‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

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

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Lisbon

Lisbon Beyond the Postcard: 5 Things to Do When You’ve Already Mastered the Classics

You’ve done the pilgrimage. You’ve braved the crowds on Tram 28, queued for pastéis de nata in Belém, and navigated the steep, melancholic streets of Alfama. You’ve seen the sunset from a crowded miradouro, and you’ve felt the history radiating from the Jerónimos Monastery.

Congratulations. You’ve seen Lisbon.

But the true magic of the Portuguese capital doesn’t lie on the postcard; it thrives in the quiet corners, the industrial chic neighborhoods, and the views reserved only for those willing to wander a little further.

If you’re ready to move past the tourist checklist and dive into the real Lisboa, here are the next top five, road-less-travelled experiences waiting for you.


1. Get Lost in the Green Lungs: Parque Florestal de Monsanto

What it is: Lisbon’s massive, sprawling answer to Central Park, covering over 10 square kilometers of forest, trails, and panoramic views.

The moment tourists step off the plane, they head east toward the castle or south toward the river. They forget that the city is hugged by a surprisingly wild, untamed forest park to the west. Monsanto is where locals go to truly escape the urban bustle.

Forget the crowded views from São Jorge; Monsanto offers dozens of quiet, breathtaking overlooks. The ultimate gem here is the abandoned Panorâmico de Monsanto. Once a glamorous restaurant and viewing deck built in the 1960s, it now stands as a vast, graffiti-covered ruin.

While officially decommissioned, the views from this concrete shell are genuinely jaw-dropping, offering a 360-degree perspective of the entire city, the Tagus River, and the Atlantic beyond. It requires a bus or short taxi ride to reach, making it inconvenient enough to keep the crowds away.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It’s outside the central walking zone, requiring dedicated transport.
  • The Insider Tip: Go for sunrise or sunset. Bring good walking shoes and a tripod for unforgettable photos from the Panorâmico.

2. Sail Across the Tagus for Seafood Bliss at Cacilhas

What it is: A quick, inexpensive ferry ride across the Tagus River to the industrial-chic municipality of Almada, offering arguably the best views of the Lisbon skyline.

While the famous Vasco da Gama Bridge and the 25 de Abril Bridge dominate the skyline, taking a short trip on the iconic orange Cacilheiros ferry from Cais do Sodré is a true local experience. The destination, Cacilhas, feels a world away from the busy, boutique-lined streets of Chiado.

Instead of monuments, you find authentic, old-school Portugal. Head straight for Rua Cândido dos Reis, a street lined with incredible, reasonably priced seafood restaurants (marisqueiras). Dining here means indulging in freshly caught fish, grilled to perfection, and avoiding the tourist mark-up found in the city center.

Don’t miss the chance to walk a little further to the 110-meter-tall Cristo Rei statue. While Belem Tower is beautiful, viewing the city skyline with the entire Lisbon waterfront framed across the water is a perspective few tourists ever seek out.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: Tourists rarely leave the Lisbon side of the river unless heading to the main beaches.
  • The Insider Tip: Try the restaurant Ponto Final for stunning riverside dining right on the water (reservations essential) or Solar dos Nunes for a cozier, highly authentic experience.

3. Explore Tile-Soaked History at the Museu Nacional do Azulejo

What it is: The National Tile Museum, housed in the magnificent former Convent of Madre de Deus, dedicated entirely to the history and artistry of Portugal’s defining cultural expression: the azulejo (painted ceramic tile).

While every street corner in Lisbon is adorned with beautiful tiles, few visitors dedicate the time to understand the profound history behind this art form. The Azulejo Museum may not sound as instantly thrilling as a castle, but it is essential to understanding the city’s identity.

Located slightly off the beaten track in the eastern suburbs (near Santa Apolónia), the museum showcases five centuries of ceramic evolution, from Moorish influence to Baroque grandeur. The real highlight is the stunning Great View of Lisbon—a 23-meter-long panel of tiles dating from 1738, depicting the city’s skyline before the devastating earthquake of 1755.

Walking through the ornate church and the quiet cloisters of the convent offers a peaceful, meditative experience far removed from the crush of the central museums.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: Its location is slightly inconvenient, requiring a short taxi or specific bus route.
  • The Insider Tip: Take time to admire the stunning, gold-leaf-laden chapel inside the former convent—it rivals those in Belém.

4. Discover the Industrial Grit of Marvila (Lisbon’s Brooklyn)

What it is: A rapidly gentrifying, formerly industrial neighborhood east of the Parque das Nações, now home to warehouses converted into craft breweries, contemporary art spaces, and cutting-edge gastronomy.

If you’re looking for Lisbon’s hip, creative heartbeat—the neighborhood where young artists and entrepreneurs are truly setting up shop—it’s Marvila. It lacks the historic charm of Alfama but makes up for it with raw, industrial energy.

This is the perfect spot for the craft beer enthusiast. Marvila boasts a strip of excellent breweries operating out of converted warehouses, including Musa and Dois Corvos. Unlike the tourist taverns, these spots offer excellent local brews, complex menus, and a true sense of community.

Beyond the beer, Marvila is home to massive art galleries and unique cultural hubs that are constantly changing, reflecting a contemporary Lisbon that is dynamic and forward-looking.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It’s still transitioning and is primarily a local destination, far from the central tourist loop.
  • The Insider Tip: Visit on a weekend afternoon to enjoy the buzzing atmosphere at the breweries when they often have food trucks or live music.

5. Trade Sintra’s Fairytale Crowds for the Coastal Calm of Ericeira

What it is: A traditional fishing town located about 45 minutes north of Lisbon, designated as Europe’s only World Surfing Reserve.

Sintra is spectacular, but during peak season, it can feel more like an amusement park than a historical site. For a coastal day trip that delivers beauty, tradition, and relaxation, head to Ericeira.

While it’s internationally famous among surfers for its diverse reef and beach breaks, the town itself maintains an incredible, whitewashed village charm. Here, you’ll find narrow, winding streets, blue-and-white houses, and excellent local bakeries selling regional specialties (ouriços and tâmaras).

The atmosphere is noticeably slower and more authentic than that of the tourist hub of Cascais. Spend the day watching the surfers at Ribeira d’Ilhas, wander through the historic center, and enjoy a spectacular ocean-view meal featuring the freshest catch of the day.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It requires a dedicated bus journey (or car hire) and is often overlooked in favor of the more marketed Sintra or Cascais.
  • The Insider Tip: Have lunch at a traditional marisqueira near the fishing port to ensure the fish was caught that morning.

The Next Chapter of Your Lisbon Story

Lisbon is a city of layers. Once you peel back the vibrant, initial layer of historic landmarks and Fado-filled taverns, you discover a deeper, more rewarding experience.

These five spots are not just alternatives; they are invitations. They invite you to slow down, cross the river, explore the urban edge, and understand the real, living pulse of one of Europe’s most exciting capitals.


Have you explored any of these hidden Lisbon gems? Share your favourite road less travelled experience in the comments below!

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t.  It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room.  It was quite large and expensively furnished.  It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917.  At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring.  Not that she had blurted that out the first they met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years.  She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity.  She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined.  After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month.  There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited.  She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends.  She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy.  Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful.  In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit.  She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine.  She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend.  That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue.  It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour.  It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country.  It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms.  When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report.  After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report.  She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen.  Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room.  She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit.  She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival.  It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality.  A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir.  It was her worst nightmare.

© Charles Heath 2020

Writing a book in 365 days – 319/320

Days 319 and 320

Writing exercise – using other words for hate, run, disappointed, joyful, and frightened

Hate is such a strong word, but then so are detest, abhor, and perhaps disgust.  The thing is, does everyone understand these other words?

I hated my parents, I hated my brothers, and I think at one particular time in my life, I hated the world.  I guess when everything you planned for just hot pulled out from under you, it’s easy to blame everything and everyone else.

At the time, there wasn’t another word strong enough.

So, when the world has taken you by the scruff of the neck and starts strangling the life out of you, what do you do?  You run.  Anywhere is better than where you are.

Isn’t it?

I’d it running though, or a strategic exit.  It depends on who you are.

Disappointed?  Hell, yeah!

To see a relationship that had been nurtured from the beginning of grade school to the end of high school, to have in place a plan for the rest of your life, and then in a few weeks before the Prom, and graduation, see it all thrown on the scrap heap because the new boy in town had swept the girl of your dreams off her feet, well that was devastation, and a dozen other ‘d’ words.  Disappointment didn’t even scratch the surface.

Stamping out all those years of joy, though, as I was reminded several times by well-meaning people, I wasn’t old enough time know what love, pain and the damn thing of life; it was better to get the love and loss thing over so that the next time, if there was a next time, I’d know what to do.

Wrong.

My next foray into a serious relationship lasted a few years but fell apart when she had an accident.  I wasn’t there at the time, but she had taken it upon herself to take on the hardest slope without telling me and got injured.

I went up with the rescue team, but it seemed the sight of me only made the accident far worse than it was: a broken leg, failing to take a tight turn, one I knew needed a little more practice than she had.

It didn’t matter that I was not judging or critical, only concerned for her.

She was taken by air ambulance to the hospital, and then I didn’t see her again.

I was starting to think that I was never meant to find the true meaning of joy, or being happy, or content, or just be comfortable in the company of that woman I was told was out there somewhere waiting for me.

Right.

I’d like to see that prophecy come true.

So, of course, the opposite of joy was despair, frightened that I was never going to find true love.

Just saying that out loud scares the hell out of me.

Frightened, scared, paralysed with fear, simply paralysed.

My job hadn’t found anyone suitable.  Dating girls at the office was a minefield, especially when it all goes south.  I’d seen it happen far too many times, with devastating results for both parties.

So …

What’s the story?

It’s there in parts, a story I tried to write a few years back, but started pottering anew.

The disappointment, the girlfriend moving on, plans destroyed, and not being the son and an heir, having a father who expected more than a lesser son could give, forced him to reconsider his life.

Instead of going to a local college and being at home, he moved across the country to go to a better university, having attained the necessary GPA to do an undergraduate degree in Economics, and then an MBA.  Five and a half to six years.

Tried to come home one and got into a fight with the son and heir and left.

Perhaps others got to share his disappointment.

Another few years pass.  His sister asks him to come home to see a sick mother.  It’s Christmas.

He gets on the plane.

Had he finally decided to stop running?

It is time to put the hate aside and try to get along.

Can help stifle the disappointment.

Can he find the joy of living at home again?

What was it, in stepping on that plane, that brought back all the disappointment, all the pain, and no chance of ever bringing back that childhood that wasn’t all that bad until he hit middle school?

Christmas is the time for joy.

Will he find it again?

Sit back, relax, and enjoy the in-flight service.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

lovecoverfinal1

In a word: While

How long is a piece of string?

Yes, that’s the meaning of the word while.

Simply because I want you to wait here while I go down the shops.

How long will that be?

I don’t know.  A while.  Anything from half an hour to a lifetime.

Then there’s another way of using the word:  While I do this can you do that.

This is more definite but still ambiguous.  How long will that be?

As long as it takes.  Anything from half an hour to a lifetime.

it is by definition, a period of time.

Then it gets more ambiguous, in that the arrangements say in place while he is alive.

Being a murder mystery writer and reader, it becomes a sufficient reason to kill a wealthy relative to get their inheritance.  But, if murder is not in mind, then it can be anything from a half-hour to a lifetime!

Less of an enigma is this use of the word:  I’m going the while away the time playing computer games.

At least you know how long that’s going to be, i.e. till you get bored.

This is not to be confused with the word wile, which means to use a cunning or devious means to get someone to do your bidding.

We’ve all heard of feminine wiles.  Granddaughters are experts in using them, I can personally attest to that.

There are other meanings but these are no longer used in modern English.

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

Third son of a Duke – The research behind the story – 2

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.

A Tale of Two Worlds: The Divergent Realities of Edwardian England and Australia for Emigrants of the Second and Third Classes in 1913

Abstract: This paper examines the starkly contrasting lived experiences of individuals classified within the second and third classes of Edwardian England in 1913, and how these experiences would have been amplified and transformed for emigrants seeking a new life in Australia. It argues that while social stratification was a defining feature of Edwardian society, the opportunities, challenges, and very definition of “class” itself were reshaped by the colonial context. For those in the second class, emigration to Australia offered a potential upward mobility and access to a less rigid social hierarchy, albeit with the loss of established comforts. Conversely, third-class emigrants faced a more precarious journey and a future in Australia that, while potentially offering escape from absolute poverty, was characterised by strenuous labour and persistent class divisions, albeit with different manifestations than those in England.

Introduction:

The year 1913 stands on the cusp of profound global change. The Edwardian era in Britain, a period of apparent prosperity and burgeoning modernity, was underpinned by a deeply entrenched social hierarchy. While the aristocracy and upper classes enjoyed unparalleled privilege, the majority of the population navigated the complexities of a class system that dictated access to education, employment, housing, and social standing. Simultaneously, the vast Australasian continent, still very much a product of British colonialism, presented itself as a land of opportunity and a potential escape route for those seeking to improve their fortunes. This paper will delve into how the specific realities of the second and third classes in Edwardian England would have translated and transformed for individuals embarking on an emigrant journey to Australia in 1913. We will explore the economic, social, and cultural landscapes that defined these classes in both nations and analyse the differential impact of emigration on their prospects.

Defining “Class” in Edwardian England, 1913:

Understanding the emigrant experience necessitates a clear definition of the social strata under consideration. In Edwardian England, class was a multifaceted construct, encompassing not only wealth but also occupation, education, manners, and inherited status.

  • Second Class: This broad category typically encompassed the upper-middle and lower-upper classes. Members of the second class were often professionals (doctors, lawyers, successful merchants), landed gentry (though not necessarily those with vast estates), and those with inherited but not immense wealth. They likely enjoyed a comfortable standard of living, with access to private education, servants in the household, leisure activities like travel and country pursuits, and a degree of social respectability. Their homes would have been well-appointed, and their social circles largely confined to those of similar standing. While not immune to economic anxieties, they possessed a degree of financial security and a strong sense of social entitlement. Their lives were marked by adherence to social etiquette and a commitment to maintaining appearances.
  • Third Class: This encompassed the working classes and the poorer segments of society. This included manual labourers, factory workers, agricultural labourers, domestic servants (those not in the privileged positions of lady’s maids or housekeepers), and the unemployed or casually employed. Their lives were characterised by hardship, long working hours, meagre wages, and often overcrowded and unsanitary living conditions. Access to education was limited, often confined to elementary schooling. Leisure time was scarce, and their social lives were largely localised within their communities. While a strong sense of camaraderie and mutual support often existed within working-class communities, their opportunities for social advancement were severely restricted by their economic circumstances.

The Pull of Australia: Motivations for Emigration:

The decision to emigrate was rarely taken lightly, especially for those in the lower strata. For individuals in both second and third classes, Australia offered a variety of perceived benefits:

  • Economic Opportunity: This was the primary driver for most emigrants. Australia, with its expanding industries, agricultural potential, and ongoing infrastructure projects, promised jobs and the possibility of acquiring land. For the third class, this offered an escape from the cyclical unemployment and low wages of industrial England. For the second class, while perhaps not driven by immediate destitution, it offered a chance for greater financial independence and a less competitive professional landscape.
  • Land Ownership: The dream of owning land was a powerful allure, particularly for those accustomed to renting or living in cramped urban environments. Australia, with its vast open spaces, seemed to offer a realistic path to achieving this aspiration.
  • Escape from Social Constraints: For some, emigration represented an opportunity to shed the rigid social expectations and limitations of British society. This was particularly true for those who felt stifled by the class system or who sought a fresh start.
  • Adventure and a “New Life”: The romanticised image of the rugged, untamed Australian landscape, coupled with a sense of pioneering spirit, certainly played a role in the decision-making process for some.

Life in Edwardian England (1913) vs. Australia for Second-Class Emigrants:

The experience of a second-class individual emigrating to Australia in 1913 would have been a significant, though not necessarily catastrophic, departure from their English life.

  • Economic Realities:
  • England: Secure, comfortable income derived from professions, investments, or inherited wealth. Possibility of maintaining a household with domestic staff, enjoying leisure pursuits, and accessing quality goods and services.
  • Australia: While opportunities for professionals and those with capital existed, the initial adjustment could involve a reduction in immediate disposable income. The cost of living, particularly for imported goods, might be higher. Professional qualifications might not be recognized immediately, requiring a period of re-establishment. The dream of owning land was attainable, but it required significant upfront investment and considerable physical labour, a stark contrast to the life of a gentleman in England. They might find themselves engaging in more hands-on management of their affairs than they were accustomed to.
  • Social Landscape:
  • England: A well-defined social hierarchy. Access to established social clubs, networks, and prestige based on lineage and profession.
  • Australia: A less rigidly stratified society, particularly in the burgeoning colonial towns and rural areas. Social mobility was theoretically greater, and status was often earned through enterprise and success rather than solely inherited. However, a distinct colonial elite, often mirroring British class structures, still existed. Second-class emigrants might find themselves interacting with a wider range of social groups than they were used to, which could be both liberating and challenging. The absence of established familiar social institutions could lead to a sense of isolation.
  • Daily Life and Opportunities:
  • England: A life of routine, comfort, and established social obligations. Access to cultural amenities, established educational institutions, and a predictable social calendar.
  • Australia: A more rugged and practical existence. Daily life would likely be more focused on establishing a livelihood, whether through professional practice, managing a farm, or investing in nascent industries. Housing might be less grand initially. Access to sophisticated cultural offerings would be limited compared to English cities. However, opportunities for entrepreneurship and innovation were abundant. The “bush” lifestyle, while romantically appealing to some, would demand significant adaptation and resilience.
  • Key Differences: The most significant difference for a second-class emigrant would be the dilution of inherited privilege. While they might retain their education and professional skills, the automatic social deference they received in England would be less pronounced. They would need to prove themselves in a new context. The physical environment and the pace of life would also be a major adjustment, demanding a greater degree of self-reliance.

Life in Edwardian England (1913) vs. Australia for Third-Class Emigrants:

For third-class emigrants, the journey to Australia represented a more drastic transformation, offering the potential for a radical improvement in their material circumstances, but also presenting significant challenges.

  • Economic Realities:
  • England: Barely subsisting on low wages, facing chronic underemployment, and living in poverty. Limited access to nutritious food, adequate housing, and healthcare. The spectre of the workhouse loomed for many.
  • Australia: While wages might not be astronomically high, they were generally higher than in England for similar manual labour. The availability of work was often more consistent, especially in growing industries and agricultural sectors. Opportunities for land settlement, often with government assistance, were a key draw, offering a path towards self-sufficiency and eventual ownership. This was a stark contrast to the perpetual rented accommodation of their English lives.
  • Social Landscape:
  • England: A rigid class structure that severely limited social mobility. Interactions largely confined to their own class, with clear demarcations from those above.
  • Australia: While class distinctions certainly existed in Australia, they were often expressed differently. The shared experience of pioneering and hard work could foster a sense of egalitarianism amongst the working classes, at least in the early stages of settlement. Opportunities to interact with individuals from different backgrounds were more common in a less populated and developing society. However, established colonial society did attempt to replicate British class norms, and social hierarchies based on wealth and occupation would still emerge.
  • Daily Life and Opportunities:
  • England: Gruelling and often unhealthy working conditions, long hours, and limited leisure. Life was a constant struggle for survival.
  • Australia: Demanding physical labour, often in harsh environmental conditions (heat, drought, isolation). However, this labour was often rewarded with better wages and the prospect of owning land or establishing a small business. The concept of “mateship” and mutual support among fellow workers was crucial for survival and social connection. Daily life would be centred around hard work, but with the tangible reward of building a future for oneself and one’s family. Access to education might still be limited, but the opportunities for vocational training and on-the-job learning are present.
  • Key Differences: The most profound difference for third-class emigrants was the potential for tangible self-improvement and a sense of ownership. While the labour was arduous, it offered the promise of a better life, free from the grinding poverty and lack of prospects that defined their existence in England. The concept of “making something of yourself” was a more attainable reality in Australia, even if it required immense sacrifice. The sense of community would shift from the familiar, often insular, working-class neighbourhoods of England to a new reliance on fellow emigrants and settlers.

The Journey Itself:

The emigrant journey also served as a crucible, shaping the experience of class.

  • Second-Class Emigrants: Likely travelled in superior accommodation, with more comfortable berths and better food. The journey might have been perceived more as an extended holiday or a grand adventure, albeit with a purpose.
  • Third-Class Emigrants: Travelled in steerage, facing cramped and often unhygienic conditions for months. This shared hardship, however, could forge strong bonds and a sense of solidarity amongst fellow travellers, laying the groundwork for future community building in Australia. The journey itself was a harsh introduction to the realities of their new life.

Conclusion:

In 1913, the prospect of emigration to Australia for individuals from the second and third classes of Edwardian England offered vastly different trajectories. For the second class, it was a calculated risk, a stepping stone to potentially greater prosperity and a less stratified social existence, albeit at the cost of established comforts and social deference. They were trading one form of privilege for the potential of another, earned through enterprise. For the third class, emigration represented a more desperate gamble, a chance to escape the suffocating grip of poverty and lack of opportunity. While the physical labour would be immense and the challenges significant, Australia offered a concrete possibility of self-sufficiency, land ownership, and a future beyond the daily struggle for survival. The very definition of “class” in Australia, while not devoid of its own hierarchies, was often more fluid and dependent on individual effort and success. Ultimately, emigration to Australia in 1913 was not a uniform experience; for those from the second and third classes of Edwardian England, it was a divergence of pathways, each shaped by existing social structures and transformed by the promise and the reality of a new continent. The emigrant journey, therefore, served not only as a physical relocation but as a profound redefinition of class and opportunity.

Writing about writing a book – Research – 9

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

Saigon in the sixties – heaven or hell

Saigon’s Neon Oasis: Where Soldiers Found Solace Amidst the Vietnam War’s Peak

The Vietnam War was a brutal, relentless conflict, a landscape of jungle, mud, and unimaginable hardship. But for those serving, there were moments, brief and precious, when the war receded, replaced by the artificial glow of city lights, the clink of ice in a glass, and the distant thrum of rock and roll. This was Saigon, the dynamic, often chaotic capital of South Vietnam, a city that, at the peak of the war, became a paradoxical oasis for weary soldiers seeking escape.

Saigon was a city of stark, poignant contrasts. On one hand, it was the administrative and logistical heart of the war effort, a place of military compounds, constant vigilance, and ever-present tension. On the other, it pulsed with a vibrant, albeit often artificial, civilian life, offering a dazzling array of “entertainment” spots where GIs could, for a few hours, pretend they weren’t in a war zone.

Let’s take a stroll through the Saigon of the late 1960s, a city that learned to cater to the needs of soldiers desperate for a moment of normalcy.

The Gritty Glamour of the GI Bars

The most immediate and common escape for soldiers in Saigon was undoubtedly its bustling bar scene. Streets like Tou Do (later Dong Khoi) and Nguyen Hue were lined with establishments ranging from dimly lit dives to multi-level discos, each promising a temporary reprieve.

  • Hostess Bars: These were perhaps the most iconic. Girls, often dressed in traditional ao dai or fashionable Western clothes, would sit with soldiers, chat, dance, and encourage them to buy “Saigon Tea” (often watered-down drinks at inflated prices). The atmosphere was a potent mix of camaraderie, loneliness, longing, and sometimes, genuine connection amidst the transactional nature. Places like “The Caravelle Bar” (not the main hotel bar, but smaller adjacent spots), “The Blue Door,” and countless nameless establishments served as noisy, smoky havens.
  • Live Music Venues: Rock and roll was king. Bands, often local Vietnamese groups with surprisingly good English, belted out hits from the Rolling Stones, Beatles, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and Jimi Hendrix. These places were a cacophony of sound, laughter, and the clinking of bottles – a direct link to the world they’d left behind.
  • “Relaxation” Spots: Beyond the main drag, smaller, shadier alleys held a myriad of establishments offering various forms of “stress relief,” from massage parlors to more illicit activities. These spots catered to the darker side of desperation and the sheer animal need for comfort or oblivion.

A Taste of Home, A Taste of Elsewhere: Restaurants & Cafes

Food was another critical component of the escape. After weeks or months of C-rations, a proper meal was a luxury.

  • American Eateries: Many restaurants sprang up catering specifically to American tastes, serving steaks, burgers, fries, and milkshakes. These provided a comforting taste of home, a tangible link to a world without war.
  • French Influence: Saigon still bore the indelible mark of its French colonial past, and this was evident in its sophisticated dining scene. Soldiers could find excellent French cuisine, from rich stews to delicate pastries, and enjoy strong, aromatic Vietnamese coffee in elegant cafes.
  • Local Delights: For the more adventurous, the city offered an explosion of local flavors. Pho stalls, bustling street markets selling grilled meats and fresh spring rolls, and family-run restaurants serving traditional Vietnamese dishes were everywhere. While some soldiers stuck to what they knew, many embraced the opportunity to savor authentic local fare.

R&R: A Slice of Luxury and Normalcy

Beyond the quick escapes, many soldiers sought longer periods of Rest & Recuperation (R&R). While some went to destinations like Bangkok or Sydney, Saigon itself offered significant R&R opportunities, particularly for those on shorter breaks.

  • Luxury Hotels: The Hotel Caravelle, the Rex Hotel, and the Continental Palace were beacons of relative luxury. With air conditioning, swimming pools, attentive service, and fine dining, these hotels offered a temporary return to civilian life. Soldiers could shed their uniforms, don civilian clothes (often custom-tailored in Saigon’s famous tailor shops), and enjoy amenities that felt worlds away from their daily realities.
  • Shopping: Saigon was a shopper’s paradise. GIs could get custom-tailored suits or dresses made almost overnight, sending them home as gifts or wearing them during their R&R. There were also markets bustling with vendors selling silks, lacquerware, “gucci bags” (often fake, but still coveted), and trinkets of all kinds.
  • Movies & Bowling: For simpler diversions, Saigon had cinemas showing American films and even bowling alleys, offering familiar pastimes that helped to momentarily erase the war from their minds.

The Ever-Present Shadow

Despite the neon lights, the music, and the fleeting moments of normalcy, the war was an ever-present shadow. The sound of distant artillery, the occasional explosion from a VC attack, the sight of wounded soldiers being transported, and the sheer number of uniformed personnel served as constant reminders. The “entertainment” in Saigon was less about genuine joy and more about coping, about finding a temporary mental refuge from the relentless pressure and trauma of combat.

For soldiers at the peak of the Vietnam War, Saigon was a place of profound duality: a chaotic battlefield and a desperate sanctuary, a city that offered illusions of escape while continuously reminding them of the grim reality just beyond its glittering facade. It was a place where humanity, in all its complexity, struggled to find moments of solace, however brief, in the heart of conflict.

The 2am Rant: There are days when everything annoys you

I wanted to write a bit about how my day was going, and then I got angry.  It was a slow fuse because most of what I was angry about I’d been reading this morning.

And, yes, it’s about political leaders, those in power and those in opposition, and how inept they are in a crisis.

Listening to our opposition leader, briefly before I turned him off to watch a rerun of McHale’s Navy, it annoyed me that he had no answers to offer, only criticism.

Unfortunately, he’s not alone in the world.

Political leaders tended to blame everyone else for problems of their own making, whether it was when they were once in power, which happens a lot, or once they’re in opposition, conveniently forgetting they, too, hoped that by ignoring the problem, it might go away.

Or that the long-suffering public will have forgotten.  That’s why we have pugnacious journalists who remember for us.

The incompetence of the people who are supposedly in charge beggars belief.

Oh, God, I’m back on my soapbox.

Forgive me.

I’ll shut up about it now.

I’m trying to imagine what it’s like in the cold because it’s the height of summer here.  It’s not helping my imagination,  so let’s try…

It’s cold today, about 14 degrees Celsius, when it’s usually 27 degrees Celsius.  The sun is letting us down, and I suppose I should be grateful that we are not suffering from an ice age.

To be honest, I was seriously considering lighting the log fire.  Instead, we have reverse cycle air-conditioning, which is probably, in the long run, cheaper.

Have you seen how much it costs to buy wood?

But…

That could have made it difficult to write.

Not to come up with inspiration, but literally write, because my office is colder than a chiller room.  My beer in storage out here is colder than it is in the fridge.  Well, that sounded better in my head than on paper, but you get what I mean.

So, instead of writing, I sat down and binge-watched Sweet Magnolias, a light-hearted series from Netflix, which is of the same vein as Chesapeake Shores, etc, and more the sort of program I’d expect from Hallmark.

It was good.  It hooked me.

Three sets of lives intertwined in a large town in middle America perhaps.  I heard Charleston mentioned so perhaps it was in South Carolina.

The good thing about it?  Not one mention of political stupidity.

Just good old-fashioned heartache and trials and tribulations of trying to live your life, bumping up against the obstacles life throws up at you.

The town was called Serenity, so there’s a pun in there somewhere.

Maybe I’ll get some writing done tomorrow.