i have PUBLISHED THREE books
BOOK 1 'CAPTURED BY CROMWELL IN CALEDONIA'
This is the opening section of Chapter 1, with an enlarged colour version of the accompanying photograph; I am with my 90 year old grandfather, Robert Ferguson.
'In the summer of 1963 we visited my grandparents in the Fenland village of Hilgay after returning from our two year stay in Berlin. One day while we were all sitting in their garden, my grandfather Robert Ferguson set my father and I an interesting challenge.
‘Why don’t you see if you can trace our Scottish ancestor, and find out how he arrived in the Norfolk Fens in the seventeenth century.’
A few weeks after our visit, my grandfather sadly died at the age of ninety. He left a very strong lead, however, a copy of a newspaper article published two years earlier in the Saturday Pictorial.
‘Captured in battle by the English’
Have you ever wondered who your long lost ancestors were, what they did or the trials and privations which may have caused them to settle in this part of the country? A simple investigation might reveal an interesting story.
Take for example the case of well-known 88 year old Mr R.A. Ferguson of Hilgay. A delve into the local Parish Register, coupled with historical events, indicate that he has a direct descendancy from Scottish prisoners brought to the Fens to toil on a mammoth drainage scheme.
Mr Ferguson, who has lived in Hilgay all his life, as have his forefathers for as long as he can remember, wondered about the Scottish origin of his name and how his family, if they were Scottish, came to settle so far from their homeland.
To fill in the picture, Mr Ferguson had his name traced back through the ages in the local parish registers, when it was found that it started to appear after the middle years of the 17th century.
When the Fens were drained during this century, the work was begun by Charles I, but was interrupted by the Civil War. The project was resumed again by Parliament after 1650.
The great Dutch engineer Cornelius Vermuyden was in charge of the work; labour was supplied by Scottish prisoners who had been taken by the English during some of the Scottish battles of the Civil War.
Some of these Scottish prisoners settled in various parts of Norfolk and it seems more likely than not that this was how Mr Ferguson’s family (and hundreds of others) first came to the Fens.’
Fifty-one years later, in the summer of 2014, I had taken early retirement and at last found myself with the time to take on the challenge. I was relishing the opportunity to hopefully progress my grandfather’s research to its ultimate conclusion.'
BOOK 2 'The Incredible MiLtons of Sussex'
Chapter 1
Mafeking, North Central Region of South Africa- 1st January 1900
It was the first day of the twentieth century but Second Lieutenant Albert St John ‘Bertie’ Milton wasn’t in the mood for celebrations.
He was sweltering in the dusty heat of the ‘Highveld’, an area of South Africa dominated by elevated plateaux, rolling plains and rocky ridges. The only respite from the intense mid-summer sun was the regular downpour at around four o’clock each afternoon.
Bertie and the other men and women trapped in this frontier town of Mafeking, twelve miles from the border with the independent Goshen Republic, always relished the soaking from this daily shower which started suddenly and only lasted for a few minutes. Even though it was brief, they all enjoyed the soothing sensation of the cooling rain on their reddened and peeling skin.
As he stood on guard duty with his rifle at the ready, Bertie often thought about the beautiful old country house in the scenic High Weald area of the southern English county of Sussex, where he spent his childhood. The mansion had been in his family for centuries and he knew that one day he would inherit it.
Bertie stared into the distance, watching out for any signs of enemy activity. He was in a state of torment. He knew that his chances of ever seeing the family estate again were quite remote and he struggled to remember what it was like to freely wander around the many rooms and extensive grounds of Stanwood House.
Bertie often thought about that day, eleven weeks ago, when the Boers had first surrounded the town to start the siege. Of course this incident had occurred in a different century so was one of the reasons why, to him, the blockade of the town seemed to have lasted much longer than it actually had. At least his Commander, the resourceful and charismatic Colonel Robert Baden-Powell, had inspired them all with the confidence they needed to hold out against the intermittent and totally unpredictable attacks by the fearsome looking Boer farmers, who were armed to the teeth and fought like tigers.
They knew that events in Mafeking were being reported back to England by the brave war correspondent Lady Sarah Wilson, and that it was attracting great interest. It was rumoured that Lady Sarah had been conducting spying activities against the Boers before being arrested and then exchanged for General Viljoen, who was a prisoner of Baden-Powell.
The Boer fighters, descended from the original Dutch, German and French Huguenot settlers of South Africa, were dressed in their regular work clothes. To the British soldiers this seemed strange, dressed as they were in khaki uniforms, with the lightweight cloth-covered topee helmet as tropical headgear. The sight of their unruly, casually dressed opponents made the whole situation seem quite surreal; they soon realised that appearances can often be deceptive. The Boers were well organised and were proving to be difficult to overcome. Their Commandant General Joubert had equipped them with an arsenal of Mauser magazine rifles, and a number of modern field guns and automatic weapons from the German armaments manufacturer Krupp and the French firm Creusot. They had become an effective fighting force through a strong sense of community and an intense dislike of the British, but did not adopt any military formation in battle. The farmers fought instinctively from any cover available using their fine marksmanship skills that they had developed and honed from hunting local wildlife.
Colonel Baden-Powell had somehow managed to negotiate a regular Sunday ceasefire with the Boer leader General Piet Cronje. It was only yesterday that some of the townsfolk had played a game of cricket against the army team in relative safety, although it was quite disconcerting for any batsman to know that it might not just be a cricket ball that was heading their way if one of the Boer fighters chose not to observe the ceasefire.
After the match they had congregated in the town’s small theatre to watch the local townspeople perform Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s dream’, appropriate for this time of year in the southern hemisphere. Bertie had seen the play before in one of the grand ornate theatres in London, forty miles to the north of Stanwood House. Seeing it once again in such unusual circumstances was something that he was sure he would remember for the rest of his life no matter how long or short that would turn out to be. He knew that his longevity was dependent on whether there was a Boer bullet out there with his name on it, and if there was, then there was probably nothing that he could do about it.
One has to be quite philosophical in these trying circumstances. he thought.
bOOK 3, 'FLOWERS on the cold wall- a sixties saga’
(published DECEMBER 2021)
CHAPTER 1
January to June 1960
It was the first day of a new decade and eleven year old Dudley Descan was bracing himself for some life changing news.
He was tired after eavesdropping his parents’ New Year’s Eve party with kid brother Alastair and little sister Lavinia. Sleep had been difficult, if not impossible, with hits like ‘It Doesn’t Matter Anymore’ by Buddy Holly, and ‘A Fool Such as I’ by Elvis Presley, blasting up the stairs.
Sitting on the fluffy beige carpet, next to the varnished wooden banisters at the top of the stairs, they had listened to the grown ups tucking into the mini banquet prepared by their mother. Ally fancied a midnight feast and dared his older brother to raid the buffet.
‘Go on Dud, nip down and get some food for us!’
‘Oh alright then, but only what I can get quickly.’
‘Great!’
Dud sneaked down as quietly as he could. The stairs in the rambling Georgian cottage were very creaky but any noise he made was drowned out by the loud music.
Two minutes later he was back, having grabbed handfuls of food from the large mahogany dining table. ‘I got crisps, ham sandwiches, sausage rolls and a few chicken drumsticks.’
‘Well done bruv but those crisps are going to make me thirsty, can you get some drink next time?’
‘Maybe Ally.’
They tried to stay awake to see in the new year but eventually fell asleep on the soft carpet. At eleven thirty they woke up in a complete daze, staggered towards their bedrooms, and then collapsed into bed. Even a loud rendition of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ just after midnight failed to disturb them.
Dudley woke at nine; disturbing thoughts of what might happen to him in this brand new year were swirling around in his sleepy head. The rest of the family hadn’t yet stirred.
An hour later his mother Gillian emerged, bleary eyed, from the bedroom. ‘Did you take some food upstairs last night Dud, one of our friends thought she saw you?’
‘Oh no! We couldn’t sleep Mum with all that noise going on, and got a bit hungry.’
‘I’ll let you off just this once as it was such a special occasion. I suppose we did make rather a lot of noise. Happy new year anyway.’
‘Happy new year Mum, and a special one too as it’s the start of a new decade. Sounds like you had a good time last night.’
Just then Dud’s father Patrick appeared. ‘Hi Dud, happy new year. I think we should all go for a walk later. It’s a nice day and I’m feeling rather fragile!’
They were all up and dressed in time for lunch. There was plenty of food left over from Gill’s buffet. No-one was very hungry though and there were still enough sandwiches, sausage rolls and chicken drumsticks for tea later in the day.
‘WALKIES!’
At the mention of the magic word, their much loved floppy eared basset hound awoke from his slumbers and started charging around the house, barking excitedly. He re-appeared in the kitchen carrying a well chewed leather doggy lead in his mouth.
‘Come on Bruno, let me put it on,’ said Livvy. ‘Stop wriggling so much.’
They all put on their coats, scarves, gloves and wellington boots and stepped outside, leaving behind them the warmth of the bright red, wood burning, AGA stove.
It was a sunny but cold winter’s day, perfect for clearing fuzzy heads from the night before. Some of the puddles had frozen over and the tree roots protruding through the rough tarmac path were also something of a trip hazard. Ally and Livvy raced ahead with Bruno. Ally slipped on the ice but just about managed to avoid taking a tumble.
With his younger brother and sister out of earshot, his mum and dad took the opportunity to give Dud the news he had been dreading. He had the feeling it was coming as Ally had let slip something he overheard his mother saying to a friend.
His dad spoke first. He was quite matter of fact about it.
‘Dud, just to let you know that we’ve put you in for the entrance exam for Little Brandport School in Cambridgeshire. It’s three miles from Ely, in the fens. Mum and I have thought about this carefully and chose Little Brandport as it was recommended to us by our friends the Millers. I think you know their son Robert. He has attended the school for just over two years.’
Even though Dud had been half expecting this unwelcome news he was so stunned that he couldn’t bring himself to speak; the bare trees lining the path seemed to close in on him. His mother decided to fill the uneasy silence.
‘Don’t worry Dud, it’s a nice school and I’m sure you’ll like it. We were very impressed with the headmaster and some of the teachers who we met. They are very keen on sport, particularly rugby.’
Again silence from Dud so his father continued:
‘You’ll be living at the school as a boarder Dud so you’ll be able to concentrate on your studies without any distractions. It’ll be good for you as you’ll learn how to look after yourself. You’ll receive an excellent education there which means you will have a much better chance of finding a good job when you leave school. Of course we will visit you regularly and I’m sure we’ll be exchanging letters each week.’
After a long pause Dud eventually managed to dredge some thoughts from his troubled mind: ‘Well if you think it’s the best thing for me then that’s fine. One question though. Will Alastair be going too and what about Lavinia when she’s older?’
‘Well it’s a “boys only” school so Lavinia won’t be able to go but we’re hoping that Alastair will be joining you one day. We’re going to see how you get on first before deciding.’