Granny Buttons posts Black Thread review

Was I looking into the canal for inspiration?
Who knows what I was thinking at the time, but I did manage to get a story out of it!

The following review of my latest novel comes from Andrew Denny of www.grannybuttons.com
Andrew must be regarded as one of the leading UK canal bloggers - certainly for volume of articles published, variety of material and its regularity, not to mention the quality of his photographic images.

Andrew's review (posted 13 Sept) begins:
I've been reading The Black Thread a historical novel by Margaret Muir.
It's set at the end of the Victorian era, mainly in Leeds and on the Leeds & Liverpool Canal up to Saltaire and Bingley.
The canal research on this one is good, and it turns out to be a pretty hot page turner.
It's nominally a historical novel with romantic embroidery, but it's fast-paced, the storytelling is taut and never drags, and smartly-plotted. The conclusion is neat (if a little improbable) but cleverly explains Amy's name and several other points in the story.
At the heart of the story is a family of Number Ones running their L&L 'short boat' mainly on the Leeds side of the canal, and this is where the story's research really shows.....
To read the rest of the review, go to:
http://www.grannybuttons.com/granny_buttons/2007/09/the-black-threa.html#more

Spring in the Tamar Valley

I'm just loving the early spring flowers colouring the garden.
The daffodils are out and the snowdrops and irises.
Camellias are an absolute picture (as you can see) and the azaleas are coming into full bloom, and lots of flowers I don't know the names of.
And every branch on the fruit trees is covered in blossom.
Most magnificent are the magnolias I have sen nearby, though I don't have a tree in the garden.
Photo: Camellia bush outside my kitchen window and morning mist in the valley.

A camellia by any other name!

How could I resist buying a camellia with the name - China Doll.
China Doll was the name of one of my favourite goats.
Although she died several years ago, I will never forget her.
Whenever I went out in the paddock she would follow me, and if I sat down on the grass she would come and sit next to me and lay her head on my lap and happily go to sleep.
It's hard to forget those special animals?
Guess I'm feeling sentimental.

Photo: Curly (another pet) checking out my brief case!
Photo: China Doll - camellia variety

Firing up the memories

There is something about a real fire crackling in an open hearth which brings back memories of chilhood.
It's warm and homely and inviting, and until I lit a fire in my new house, it was something I had almost forgotten.
I remember, as a child, sitting around the fire with the family, listening to the radio plays and my favourite program, Journey into Space (long before the days of the successful Apollo moon missions).
I also remember the pink mottled legs from sitting too close.
And I remember the faces and changing images in the fire itself - a benefit from not not having ones eyes glued to a TV screen.
Of course, in those days in the UK we were burning coal.
Today, sadly, the home fire burning wood is regarded as a pollutant.
So much for progress?
Photo: Winter in Tassie

Canal Cuttings give thumbs up for The Black Thread

This is the first feedback I have had for my latest novel - published 30 August.
I'm very pleased.

The Black Thread by Margaret Muir - Book Review
This is a very sensitive and dramatic story set in 1898, in and around Leeds and the historic area of Saltaire on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal.
The main character Amy longs to meet the father that left home before she was born. The story gave you a true feeling of factuality, rather than fiction.
You get an insight into Leeds and Liverpool Canal bargees and woolen mill worker’s community life during those hard times and Amy’s relationship with the canals and Victorian industrial worker’s poverty.
The supporting characters subtly appear out of the pages right at the beginning of the book and keep turning up, some like bad pennies!
I thoroughly enjoyed this well written book with its mysterious twists and shocking turns and would thoroughly recommend it.

Jean Beven, JeGraNet.com
The review appeared on the website of www.canalcuttings.co.uk - a canal and narrowboat website.
Photo: (author) by Rob Dunn taken at Hungerford 2006

My own patch of paradise

This is the view from the garden looking north along the Tamar valley.
I'm located 15 kilometers from Launceston - a 15 minute drive.
I'm still shaking my head when I look out of the window - it's just a picture perfect view.

On Cloud Nine (in Tassie)

I’ve been 8 weeks without my computer and mailing list. Now, at last, I have them back and have a bit of catching up to do.
But have to admit, I still haven’t come down to earth completely.
I'm still floating above the clouds at the moment!

If you haven’t heard or read my news, I have two things to tell:

Firstly I have moved lock, stock and barrel to Tasmania.
I have settled in a Swiss-style village called Grindelwald which is 15 km north of Launceston.
My house is built in the style of an 1800s English Rectory and it stands on the top of a ridge overlooking the broad Tamar Valley. In the mornings when the mist rises, I can look down on the clouds as they turn pink and mauve – it’s beautiful.
And it feels like I’m a million miles from everywhere – let alone Western Australia.

Despite the move (which is probably about 3500km), I’m pleased to say that my email address has not changed.

The second bit of news is that my third novel is due for release this month in London. It’s a story set on a barge on the Leeds and Liverpool canal in the 1890s.
If you are interested, the details in the item below.

Sitting here at the keyboard once again, I have to admit it’s nice to be back in the real (cyberspace) world again.
Best to all
Marg Muir
Photo: The view of the Tamar Valley from my balcony.

The Black Thread - Press Release (Hale Books)

PRESS RELEASE
The black waters of the canal lead to an even darker secret

The Black Thread is Margaret Muir’s third novel.
Published in hardback by Robert Hale Limited on 31 August.

Set in the 1890s, the story tells of Amy Dodd’s desperate journey along the Leeds and Liverpool canal in a bid to escape from her father.
But her freedom, once gained, is short-lived.
Confronted with a shocking revelation, Amy has no choice but to return to Leeds to unravel a twenty year old mystery.

By the end of the nineteenth century, the era of canals and horse-drawn barges was already waning. In her novel, the author paints a picture of life on the canals at that time.

Though the story is set mainly on a canal short-boat, the Yorkshire mill town of Saltaire, with its Florentine-style architecture, also provides a striking backdrop.
The unique funicular tramway at Shipley Glen, which attracted thousands of visitors to the town over 100 years ago (and still operates today), also features significantly in the story.

The Black Thread is a dramatic tale which will be of particular interest to lovers of canal boats and the British Waterways. The historical details of Saltaire, Salts Mill and the Shipley Glen Tramway at the end of the nineteenth century, should appeal to lovers of history.

Though the author recently moved to Tasmania, Margaret Muir grew up in Leeds, Yorkshire. She visited Saltaire and the Leeds and Liverpool canal last year as part of her research for this novel.

The Black Thread
by Margaret Muir
Published Aug 2007 by Robert Hale Limited
ISBN: 978-0-7090-8343-6
A copy of the novel can be ordered on-line from www.halebooks.com,
www.Amazon.co.uk, or from any good UK bookshop, or library.

Photo: Salts Mill at Saltaire built around 1850 beside the Leeds and Liverpool canal (M Muir 2006)

Twiddling my thumbs

It's like being in limbo.
The furniture left Western Australia on 21st May - almost two weeks ago and it's currently sitting on a dock in Devonport, Tasmania.
My car left last week and will be in Tassie next week - hopefully about the same time that I will arrive there.
Due to the delay in settlement on my Perth property I have postponed my flights to Launceston until next Monday.
It's all a bit frustrating at this stage as obviously I want to take possession of my new house as soon as possible.
At the moment I am living in a rather echoey empty house with very little furniture, sleeping on a borrowed mattress on the floor and I have no personal possessions - including my computer.
Thanks for the loan of the laptop, Rob!
Still, it's only temperary and tomorrow is another day.
Marg.
(PS - with out my computer I can't add a pic - sorry!)

The Black Thread

I have just found the cover picture to The Black Thread on www.Amazon.uk.co
It's the first time I have seen it and must admit I am rather disappointed.
My other covers have been far more attractive.
On the other hand, at least there is no doubt that the story is connected with canals and barges.
And perhaps the girl in the picture will grow on me, as she is nothing like the character I imagined when I wrote the story.

Goodbye Goats

I can leave a place I have lived in, even a state or country with no second thoughts or regrets, but saying goodbye to the goats is a bit hard.
I've been running goats for 18 years and have experienced the heart-ache, hard physical work and frustrations with comes with breeding livestock.
I've had angora goats, cashmeres, ferals, even some dairy goats but for the last 8 years I have been running South Aftican Boer goats.
Today, the final 15 were taken off the property today - to a good home, I'm pleased to say.
So, with all the work and traumas I have experiences over the years, why will I miss them?
Goats are the most incredible creatures. They are intelligent (second only to dogs)affectionate, very family oriented, and as kids are the most delightful creatures to watch as they play.
I've helped bring dozens into the world. I've bottle fed some, revived some by giving them mouth to mouth, even kept newborns warm in bed with me.
I've cried when some of my older girls have died or I have had no alternative but to put her out of her misery.
Yes, I will miss seeing the goats from the kitchen window - but after 18 years, it's time to move on.

Ulverscroft Large Print books

Though I have packed all my books for the move next week, I was delighted to receive two copies of the large print edition of, The Twisting Vine.
The books arrived today and, though they were published in March, it's the first time I have seen the new cover.
I am delighted with the artwork - it's different to the first edition, though I still wish that the book had been titled, Through Glass Eyes, the title I had written it under, and not the title chosen by the original publisher.
If you are not aware, the publisher of large print books is the Ulverscroft Foundation which is a registered charity in the UK.
The sale of its books provides funds for research, diagnosis and treatment of eye diseases.
Large print books are not only popular with the partially sighted but also with older readers.
Ulverscroft's large print editions books are circulated world-wide.
I am proud to be associated with The Ulverscroft Foundation.
The Twisting Vine in large print can be ordered through your local library.

Sailing home

From the Isle of Pines it was only a two day voyage back to Sydney and again it was calm seas and clear skies.
As we arrived back in Sydney at about 6.00 am, it was too dark to get any decent photos.
It was a good holiday. The onboard service was good and the islands quite unforgettable and as I had been offered an extremely cheap last minute deal, it represented value for money.
Before we disembarked, my friend from Adelaide, insisted on having a photo in the ship's library where a copy of 'Sea Dust' graced the shelf.
It seemed fitting to leave a copy there as it was the 'Pacific Sun' I had planned to launch 'Sea Dust' on 18 months earlier.

The Isle of Pines

The Isle of Pines should be called the Isles of Pines as there are dozens (probably hundreds) of small coral atolls decked with pine trees. They seem to be growing out of the sea and some look almost like rafts floating on the ocean.
Thanks for the panorama softwear, Rob, I was able to create a few conjoined shots.

Pacific island paradise

I'm afraid my photos don't capture the colours of the sea. They were amazing.
When I got the the bridge which joined the islands, I decided it was time to turn around. I was too tired to walk all the way back but I was lucky to get a lift back from a local.

Ouvea - a beach like no other

From Vila we sailed to the French island of Ouvea.
With no town or dock, the ship dropped anchor beyond the reef and passengers were ferried on shore by tender.
Nearly everyone from the ship stayed closed to the jetty where they were dropped. They were happy to laze in the crystal clear water.
Ouvea must have one of the longest pristine white beaches in the world.
The sand is so fine - the sea so many different shades of blue - I just walked and walked picking up seashells on the way.
I had miles of beach to myself.
On the photo you can just see where the point is on the horizon.
When I rounded the point I came to the bridge where the island splits in two. Inside the reef was a beautiful lagoon.
You can see the bridge in the next photo.

Port Vila - Vanuatu

After three days cruising on perfectly calm idyllic seas, the Pacific Sun docked in
Port Vila on the island of Vanuatu.
It reminded me very much of Bali.
The town was quite small with lots of shops selling local wares. The main difference was that there was no pressure to buy and no bargaining.
The people are very happy and the local dancers were very obliging.
I couldn't resist a photo with the kids and though they were really dark skinned until I got on the ship and realised my hands and the sides of my trousers were covered in coal dust!

The Pacific Sun shines on Sydney Harbour

It was sunset as P&Os Pacific Sun steamed out of Darling Harbour - and the timing was perfect.
What a thrill it was to see the Opera House on one side and Lunar Park on the other and see the Sydney Tower poking up from the city's skyline.
Sydney has certainly changed since we lived there back in the 70s but the memories of all the trips we took to Manly on the ferry soon came tumbling back.
As we went under the bridge I think all 1800 passengers were on deck to savour the moment but it was amazing how quickly they disappeared below.
Most of them missed the setting sun - it was magic!
I remained on deck until the ship had sailed out of the Heads and set its course to the north east and the islands of the South Pacific.

The coat-hanger brigade

Today is officially the Queen's birthday in Australia - but that's not the reason these folk are waving.
They are standing on top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge as the Pacific Sun sails under (with only inches to spare between the top of the funnel and the bottom of the bridge).
It's two week since I joined the 'Sun' on a Pacific Island cruise.
Having come back with the flu, I have only just got around to uploading a few photos.

My place

This is the house I am buying in Tasmania.
If all goes well I will be moving in on 5th July.
Photo courtesy of Towns Shearing Real Estate, Launceston, the agents who I had the pleasure of dealing with.

End of a journey...

...and the beginning of a new adventure.
I loved the image below but realised when I had posted it that it was a bit blurred.
This photo is better and I now have it as my screen saver.
I'm not the best at photography and must admit I took this on a normal daylight setting though it was still quite dark.

The Spirit retuns

I didn’t know what time it was. I woke suddenly aware it was a noise which had startled me.
And there is was again. I knew at once that it was a ship’s siren.
I had heard that the Spirit of Tasmania sailed in every morning at 7.00 am and I knew from the sound that she was approaching the mouth of the Mersey River, returning to Devonport after her night crossing from Melbourne.
The room was black. The curtains had those heavy plastic-coated linings which didn’t allow a glimmer of light even though the car park outside was still brightly lit.
I found the switch and reached for my clothes. It was 6.45.
The siren sounded again - and it was nearer.
I knew that I didn’t have time to dress properly if I wanted to see it.
I pulled on my trousers, tucked my nightie into them, and pulled my coat on, zipping it high under my chin. It could be quite cold outside at this time of the morning. Joggers on – no time to lace them.
I grabbed the camera and room key and within seconds was down the corridor and out of the front door.
The B&B on Victoria Avenue was directly across the road from the River and at it faced east I could see the sky changing to accommodate the sun as it was about to rise at the point where Bass Strait ends and Tasmania begins.
I crossed the road quickly to the grassy bank and watched in awe as the modern ferry approached.
She sounded her siren again, for me I thought, as I was the only person waiting to welcome her.
She approached surprisingly fast sliding by smoothly and silently, creating barely a ripple on the rose-coloured sea – even the wild waters of Bass Strait were still asleep.
Would she reach her wharf only half a mile up river before the sun came up, I wondered?
I watched her pass and watched the sky change from red to gold and a dozen shades between and marvelled at the kaleidoscope of colours reflected in the river.
What a beautiful morning it was, and oh, what a beautiful sight.
Photo: Mouth of the Mersey, Devonport, Tasmania

On the ridge at Grindelwald

I went back to Tasmania last week with one purpose in mind - to buy a house.
And I fell in love with this one.
It overlooks the Tamar River with 180 degree views ... and it feels right for me.

Penny Royal in Launceston

You could easily imagine you were beside the Avon at Stratford in England - but you are not.
This group of buildings is part of a complex which includes a hotel and shops and it's in the centre of Tasmania's Launceston and two minutes walk from the Cataract Gorge.
Launceston is a city where everything is within walking distance.
And it is full of surprises.

Westbury Chruch

Maybe it's some of Tasmania's buildings, like this church in the small town of Westbury near Launceston, which remind me of England and make me feel I belong in this part of the world.
Or is it that in Tasmania you can witness the changing colours of the four seasons? That is something I have missed in the part of Western Australia where I have lived for 27 years.
They also tell me it rains in Tassie - so I guess I have been lucky.
This is my second visit and once again I am blessed with blue skies.

The Spirit of Tasmania

The Spirit of Tasmania is of course the name of the ferry service which sails daily from Melbourne to Devonport on the island's north coast.
The voyage across Bass Strait takes about 10 hours.
I heard one of the locals describe the ferry as 'our highway to the mainland'.
But for me there is another spirit of Tasmania and I'm sure I am not the only person who has experienced it.
It seems that almost everyone who travels to the Apple Isle is attracted to it in a way they cannot explain.
It's hard to know if it's the friendliness, the clean green philosophy, the easy going way of life, the homeliness - but it is a feeling which grabbed me as soon as I stepped off the plane.
While driving around the state (of only 400,000 people) I kept hearing myself say, "I love it here".

Grindelwald - a taste of Switzerland in Tasmania

You could be forgiven for thinking this picture was taken in Europe.
It wasn't.
The photo is the resort hotel complex in the village of Grindelwald only 10 minutes drive from Launceston's CBD.
Grindelwald was the brainchild of Roelf Voss who, after visiting Switzerland, was inspired to create a Swiss-style village in the heart of the beautiful Tamar Valley.
The village began in 1980 with a 15 acre lake and a tiny lakeside chapel.
Today the houses, mostly on 2 - 5 acre blocks, sprawl over 1000 acres.
They are all unique in design but are all constructed in the typical Swiss style with high pitched roofs and wide eaves.
I stayed at Grindelwald on my first visit to Launceston only a few weeks ago.
It's located high up on the valley side and overlooks Brady's lookout (see below)
- and it's the place which drew me back.
With a climate comparable to northern France, and the hillsides decked with vineyards, the Tamar Valley is considered one of Australia's most desirable locations.

Brady's Lookout near Launceston, Tasmania

As I stepped out of the car at the top of the hill, it was like waking to a very pleasant dream. I looked at the lines on the road – the spaces for other cars – but there were none.
When I looked up, what confronted me was the view. It seemed to go on forever and I guess it stretched 30 or 40 km almost to Bass Strait in the north, and to the green but rugged mountains which encircled the valley in every other direction.
But the most striking feature was the Tamar River winding its way graciously to the sea.
The sky could not have been bluer, the trees greener. And the water was a shade of blue jade flecked with slivers of silver.
There was not a house in sight - or a person – or even a bird for that matter.
But despite the solitude I felt engulfed in an aura of belonging – like a child who’d been away from home for a long, long time and just returned.
It was a warm comfortable and satisfying feeling and I had no desire to go away and leave it.
After a while of musing, two other people entered my dream.
I hadn’t heard their car and didn’t notice them until they ambled across to the place where I had been standing.
I wondered if they were experiencing the same feeling which I had.
They looked content. They were not young.
He was Australian and she was Indian with long black hair falling down her back.
They walked hand in hand and said nothing.
They smiled at me and I smiled back.
I moved on and stopped at a plaque at the side of the track which said that this place was Brady’s Lookout.
Mathew Brady had been sentenced to transportation from England in 1820 for stealing food. Having attempted to abscond and committed several crimes Brady soon became known as a notorious bandit and he and his gang sought refuge in the rocky outcrops on the side of the valley overlooking the Tamar River.
Brady’s hope was to pirate a ship on the River and escape by sea. But he never made it and was eventually captured, tried and hanged in Hobart in 1826.

I will remember that lookout – Brady’s lookout – not for the convicted man, but for the views, the solitude, the peace and a feeling of contentment which is hard to explain.
It was like being touched by fragments of memory from childhood.
Like the sound of a robin pecking on the corner of a frosted window frame.
Like the crunch of freshly fallen snow underfoot.
Like the changing faces dancing in the flames of a fire.
Like the taste of honey on crumpets on a cold winter’s night.
The sorts of memories you never forget.
Brady’s Lookout was like that. And the best thing about it was that it wasn’t a dream.
It was real - and it will still be there when I go back.

The Tamar Valley - Here I come!

Last week I flew to Tasmania for a week's holiday.
This week I took the first steps to sell my house in WA.
In July, if all goes well, I will move to the Tamar Valley.
I had never been there before last week, I don't know anyone there, but I fell in love with the region.
There is nothing to hold me in Western Australia.
So I'm off!!

Photo: Taken on Brady's lookout about 15 km north of Launceston looking north over the beautiful Tamar Valley. (M Muir 03/07)

Better than a raindance!

Well, I wouldn't have believed it.
Only a few hours after posting the last blog entry about how dry everything was, the storm clouds rolled in and it rained!
It didn't last long but it did freshen the air for a short time.
Now it's back to 100 degrees - 39C forcast for today!
No wonder I am planning a trip to Tasmania.
Oh, to live somewhere without the extremes of climate.
Photo: M Muir