History – Page 8 – A. L. Lester

Guest Post: Ellie Thomas, Artistic Inspiration

Thank you so much, Ally, for having me as your guest today! I’m Ellie Thomas and I write Historical Gay Romance. In this blog, I’ll be chatting about my latest story with JMS Books, released on July 10th. It’s a Hot Flash entitled A Roll of the Dice. It can be uncanny how inspiration comes out of the blue from an unexpected source. The idea for this tale started when watching an excellent three-part tv documentary on the story of Welsh art – of all things!

I love all things eighteenth century and especially writing about that period of history. So, when the programme focused on artists of that particular time, I was completely rapt. I heard for the first time about the landscape artist Richard Wilson (1713-82), who was one of the first of his peers to popularise the landscape genre. I was not only fascinated by his story and his artwork, but it also got my imagination whirring.

In the same way, my main character Joshua has Jones as a surname in honour of the Welsh artist Thomas Jones (1742-1803). Like his namesake, Joshua studies in London under the great Richard Wilson. While writing about Joshua’s experiences, I couldn’t resist including a real-life humorous anecdote about students misbehaving in class which Thomas Jones had recorded in his diaries.

So, as I had sketched in the artistic backdrop for my story, my next task was to devise my characters. When the story started unfolding in my mind, I happened to come across an article on influential black composers and musicians in Europe in the eighteenth century, including the Chevalier de St. Georges (1745-1799) who was dubbed ‘The Black Mozart’. This inspired me to make Joshua both an aspiring artist and a man of colour.

Many artists at that time, including Richard Wilson and Thomas Jones, were drawn to London to study, exhibit and establish their names in artistic circles, so that city seemed the ideal setting. In my story, Joshua leaves his home city of Bristol in the West of England to stay with relatives in London to try to make his mark on the art world.

Towards the end of the eighteenth century, although a major city and growing fast, London was not endless urban sprawl familiar to us now, but could still be crossed on foot. This relatively short distance made me consider in which specific districts to place my characters and how to arrange their first meeting.

Since the Royal Academy of Art in London was based in Old Slaughter’s Coffee House in St. Martin’s Lane in those very early days, that got me thinking about nearby Whitehall and the St. James’ Palace area, lined with exclusive masculine gambling and drinking clubs which were a core of political power and influence at the time.

These qualities embody the character of Frank, Joshua’s love interest, who moves easily amongst influential diplomatic circles. As Joshua funds his daytime art studies by working as a waiter in a gambling club by night, this seemed an ideal meeting point for my couple. In such an intensely male, hot-house situation, I could easily imagine how a spark of mutual attraction could flare into romance.

A Roll of the Dice

Joshua Jones is in London to pursue his dream of becoming an artist. As a young black man from a modest background, he works hard to pay for his painting classes, both as a fencing master’s assistant, then as a waiter in an exclusive gaming club, which his uncle manages.

During the London Season when the club as at its busiest, the last thing Joshua expects is to find romance. But when mesmerising older man, Frank Bartlett, is determined to seduce him, how can he resist? Joshua now finds he has another problem. How can he stop himself falling for the object of his desire?

Buy A Roll of the Dice

Read an Extract from A Roll of the Dice

As they sat by the fireplace, Joshua looked around him with interest, noting the shelves of books and the writing desk piled high with correspondence. Pouring them both a glass of wine, Frank sat back and smiled at Joshua’s observation.

“Does my home meet with your approval?” Frank asked.

Joshua grinned. “I was expecting more of a palace,” he replied, which make Frank laugh, revealing that strong column of his throat that made Joshua catch his breath.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Frank said, smiling.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I was disappointed,” Joshua said with a tinge of flirtation, knowing he was playing with fire. Frank glanced at him with a knowing flickering glimmer that set Joshua’s pulses racing. He was achingly aware that the consideration and snatched conversations of previous evenings would escalate in this intimate setting.

“If you are in the mood,” Frank said silkily, reaching for a pack of cards and moving a nearby side table between them, “I thought we might play a game.”

Joshua almost blurted out that he did not gamble, when he suddenly realised that the stakes were far riskier, or rather risqué, than money. “Pick a card,” Frank invited him. Breathlessly, Joshua did so and putting it down on the table, he saw he had selected the Ten of Hearts. Frank followed suit, placing down the Two of Spades. “I lose,” he said, smiling as he shrugged off his coat.

Joshua’s eyes widened. “I think I like this game,” he said, picking the next card. As it was his turn to select a lower card, he chose to remove his neckcloth as slowly as possible, his adversary glued to his every movement. Then Frank lost his waistcoat, his large body visible under his linen shirt which made Joshua’s mouth go dry. He gulped his wine before picking the next card. They chose an equal number and in accord, both removed their shirts. Joshua could not take his eyes from that massive chest and brawny torso and Frank seemed equally breathless at the sight of Joshua’s lithe and sinewy brown body.

“Perhaps we should take this into the bedroom?” Frank suggested, rising and holding out his hand. Joshua followed willingly and as soon as the bedroom door was shut behind them, they were in each other’s arms.

Buy A Roll of the Dice

Meet Ellie

Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical gay romance.

Ellie also writes historical erotic romance as L. E. Thomas.

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Taking Flight: Branwen’s Grave

So, it’s release day for Taking Flight! Yay! I’ve been around and about visiting at various blogs over the last few days…Nell Iris (10^th), Holly Day (11^th), Addison Albright (today!) and I’ll be over at Ofelia Grand’s place on the 16^th.

Taking Flight by A. L. Lester. A short contemporary gay romance in the Celtic Myths collection.

Taking Flight is based on a tale from The Mabinogion, about Brânwen, sister of King Brân of Wales. Her brother marries her off to Matholwch, King of Ireland, but the marriage goes bad for complicated reasons to do with her step-brother mutilating her husband’s horses. Once Matholwch gets her home to Ireland, he banishes her to his kitchens. She tames a starling and sends it with a message to her brother for help. I’ve made the Brânwen character a trans man called Gwyn; and he extracts himself from his own difficulties with the help of Darren Starling rather than passively waiting to be rescued.

It’s a tiny, tiny bit of the whole legend. The tales in the Mabinogion tend to be very complicated and pretty dark and wouldn’t fit into a short story. They were handed down orally in Wales until they were written down in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

My background before I was a parent, a writer, a chicken-farmer, an audio-visual technician, an IT teacher and an IT professional was archaeology and history. I have always thought of myself as an Archaeologist and/or a Historian—I studied both at York for three years. However, I have never been on a dig! It’s a weird way to still self-identify thirty years after my time in that world ended; but I still do. I read a lot of history and of course I write historical stories. Even these Contemporary Celtic Myths are based in the past.

For some of the saints stories, there are obvious bits of physical evidence tied in with them. There’s a St Dwynwen’s Chapel on Anglesey—the one with the well full of fortune-telling eels I mention in Playing Chicken. St Kevin from As the Crows Fly has a hermit’s cave you can look at in a valley in Ireland. But the tales in the Maginogion go back far beyond the Christian era.

There’s no actual evidence for the Irish King Matholwch ever existing, I understand he only appears in the Mabinogion. It’s probable he was a minor leader, obviously near the coast because he had ships. The one thing that is possible evidence for the story being true is the Bronze Age burial mound known as Bedd Branwen on the Isle of Anglesey. This is such a good article, I do recommend it, there are links to the Mabinogion and photos of the site. In the tale, after lots of war and horrible things only eight people were left in Ireland and eight in Wales. The Welsh came home and

“…they came to land at Aber Alaw, in Talebolyon, and they sat down to rest. And Branwen looked towards Ireland and towards the Island of the Mighty, to see if she could descry them. “Alas,” said she, “woe is me that I was ever born; two islands have been destroyed because of me!” Then she uttered a loud groan, and there broke her heart. And they made her a four-sided grave, and buried her upon the banks of the Alaw.”

When Bedd Branwen was excavated in the 1960s by Frances Lynch, various Bronze Age burial urns and grave-goods were found and the site was dated to between 1650BC-1400BC.

So the original story had its seeds sown 3,500 years ago.

I find this absolutely fascinating. Oral history has handed that story down in one form or another with embellishments and omissions for all those years and in all those different languages. What we have in The Mabinogion is a faint echo of the past, resonating down the years from a small grave-mound by an insignificant river in a far corner of Europe.

Anyway. Here’s the blurb for Taking Flight. I do apologise for missing out the bit about the resurrection cauldron, but I just couldn’t get it in and keep the word-count low enough!

Taking Flight

Gwyn Mabler is on secondment at the Kings of Ireland Hotel at Tara. He and his brother Brân are in the process of buying the place and Gwyn is getting to grips with the everyday running by shadowing the current owner, Mal Reagan.

Gwyn’s an idiot, though. Mal made it clear from the start he’d like to get Gwyn in his bed and after a couple of weeks of pursuit, Gwyn gave in. Mal was hot and pushy and just the kind of dangerous to pique Gwyn’s interest. He honestly thought Mal knew he was trans.

Since that horrible night, Mal has had Gwyn ‘workshadowing’ Chef in the deeply unhappy kitchen. He doesn’t want to go home and cause a fuss that might make the sale fall through, but when a huge row breaks out over a flour delivery and Mal backhands Gwyn across the face, he finally decides enough is enough. With the help of Darren Starling, one of the line-cooks with whom he’s formed a tentative friendship, he leaves.

During the two-day journey from the middle of Ireland home to Wales they have plenty of time to exchange confidences. Could the delicate pull of attraction between them grow into something stronger? Is it safe for Gwyn to out himself to Darren? Will Darren want to go out with a trans guy? And how will his brother Brân take Gwyn’s arrival home with a stranger?

A 14,500-word short story in the Reworked Celtic Myths series.

Buy Taking Flight: Amazon US – Amazon UK – Everywhere Else!

Taking Flight banner. A short gay romance in the Celtic Myth collection.

Why the 1920s?

Sylvia Marks is coming soon! A 1920s lesbian romance. With magic and suspense. And tea. The first of a new trilogy set in the Border Magic universe.

It may have come to your attention by now that I like to write in the 1920s! So, what inspired me to do that and why do I keep coming back to it?

My first foray into the decade was Lost in Time, and that was a sort of incidental kind of period piece. I began writing as the hundred year anniversary of World War One was marked and I was doing a lot of thinking about my grandparents. My father’s father was the only survivor of a tank crew; and my mother’s great-uncle was a runner between the trenches who was killed before he hit twenty.

I began thinking about how our experiences a hundred years later contrast with the experiences of that earlier generation. Those thoughts grew into Lost in Time, with Lew from 2016 bringing his modern lens to bear on the 1919 world he found himself in.

At that point in my writing I really didn’t have a plan. I discovery-wrote Lost in Time without any idea of what I was doing—I was just telling the story. It’s a happy-for-now rather than a happy-ever-after and Shadows on the Border was a natural extension that allowed me to explore the happy-for-now a bit more; and then I ended up needing a resolution for Will and Fenn, so The Hunted and the Hind came about. Once I began the story in book one, I just had to carry on until I got to the end. And of course, people’s stories don’t end when they begin a relationship, quite the opposite. That’s always something I’ve found difficult in my writing and my reading too.

In the meantime I was writing a serial for my newsletter subscribers. I had written a short-story called The Gate, set in 1919 as an introduction to the world before Lost in Time was published. It was short and full of paranormal stuff, but the relationship resolution was very tentative and I wanted to know what happened afterwards. That became Inheritance of Shadows. That’s a rural story, with a lot inspired by the old farmers I remember as a child—the ones who’s names are on the local war memorials as serving in the First World War.

These four books concentrate on men and the male experience of the war and what happens afterwards, when you come home.

With The Fog of War I’ve done various things a bit differently.

Firstly, it’s a book about women. Dr Sylvia Marks is a minor character in Inheritance of Shadows. I loved her when I wrote her and so did my editor, who encouraged me to write more about her. I think she was envisaging a kind of village doctor solves cosy mysteries kind of series, but it appears that I am congenitally unable to write long stories that don’t contain some sort of paranormal shenanigans. So here we are.

I began reading around women doctors and how they contributed to the war effort and I came across Dr Elsie Inglis and the Scottish Women’s Hospitals and Dr Flora Murray and Dr Louisa Garrett Anderson, who ran the Endell Street Military Hospital. The institutions were staffed almost entirely by women and additionally, Flora Murray and Louisa Garrett Anderson were together as a couple.

I then remembered my grandmother telling me about a local lady doctor who would visit her mother in the pre- and post- World War One years and hitch her skirts up and sit on the kitchen table, smoking and chatting. I have a friend who is part of that family and I asked if her husband could remember anything about her. She passed on that he remembered her from family gatherings in the 1960s and she was a tough old bird who smoked like a chimney. My friend, who is, handily, an archivist, also mentioned she had wind of another lady doctor who served in France but then came home and gave up the profession, got married and had children.

It was all grist to my mill.

Plus, the snappy dialogue and the Dorothy L. Sayers vibe I can bring to it makes it fun to write. I read a lot of 1920s and 1920s detective novels…The Toff, Miss Marple, Miss Fisher…what’s not to like?

So to answer my own question, I began with one idea and it’s all snowballed from there. I keep finding more and more interesting snippets from the 1920s that I want to explore.

The Fog of War will be published by JMS Books on 16th August 2021.

Taking Stock: Deleted Scene

Here’s a deleted scene I found from Taking Stock. It’s Patsy Walker, who runs the Post Office, talking to HER friend Sally, who’s Laurie’s housekeeper. It’s whilst he’s in hospital recovering from his stroke. I took it out because it didn’t move the story along at all.

Book cover of Taking Stock — Taking Stock

“He’s going to be a handful,” Patsy Walker said to her friend Sally Beelock as she filled the tea-pot. “You’ll have trouble with him.”

Sally pulled a face. “You don’t need to tell me that,” she said. “He’s already talking about coming home and the stupid idiot can’t even stand up without help yet.”

“He’s improving though, yes?” Patsy asked.

“Yes, definitely. And it’s only been a week. They say that he needs to keep trying to move everything, his arm, his fingers, his leg, and the more he does that the more it’ll help.” She sighed. “They don’t know if it’ll all come back properly, but they say there’s a good chance.”

Patsy passed her a mug of tea and sat down opposite her at the kitchen table where she could see in to the shop. There weren’t any customers at the moment, but the early autumn day was warm and she had the outside door propped open as usual, which meant the bell wouldn’t ring if anyone came in.

“How are you managing?” she asked Sally. “It must have been a shock. He’s only what, thirty?”

“Thirty-three,” Sally said absently. “Yes. I thought it was curtains for him to be honest, Pat. Jimmy came down to get me at Carsters once the ambulance had gone. He didn’t tell me much, just said I should get into the hospital. Apparently he was unconscious, pretty much.”

Patsy patted her hand. “Well, he’s going to be fine, love. You’ll see. Look at Roger Chedzoy. He had a stroke four years ago and you’d never really know to look at him now.”

“He’s sixty-three though,” Sally said. “I mean, there’s never a good age, is there? But Laurie’s so young.”

Patsy nodded. “And that means he’s got more fight in him and he’ll get over it quickly. You’ll see.”

Fiona Glass: The Strange Case of the Superfluous Sword

Fiona Glass is here today with a post about archaeology and her new release Trench Warfare. It’s a subject particularly close to my heart because in a previous incarnation I was an archaeologist. And I also remember doing work-experience with a County Archaeologist called Steve; and Mick Aston from the Time-Team was very kind to me when I was writing my dissertation. Take it away, Fiona!

Thanks so much to Ally for letting me waffle on about my latest book. I’ll start by saying that one of my favourite TV shows of all time has to be the Channel 4 archaeology series Time Team, which ran for the best part of 20 years from 1994 to 2014. Each episode featured a new site for the team to investigate, and they were always given “just three days” to answer a series of questions, typically ‛how old is it?’, ‛how big was it?’ and ‛is there anything unusual about it?’. The sites ranged from Prehistoric caves to Victorian industrial sites, and pretty much everything in between, and almost all the programmes were both informative and absolutely fascinating.

One episode stood out amongst all the rest for being unique, and even a little odd. I can’t remember every detail now, but I do remember that there was a magnificent discovery (which may well have been the sword referred to in this post’s title). The only trouble was, the team’s experts were thoroughly unconvinced the discovery was genuine: it was the wrong artefact in the wrong stratigraphy at the wrong time. They couldn’t openly say so, though, without accusing the land owners of fraud, so it was left very open-ended – and very intriguing.

Straight away this suggested all sorts of plot bunnies, and I used one of them to write a short story called ‛Trench Warfare’- but substituting a gold cross for the sword. The story also featured a sweet m/m romance between an archaeologist and his assistant, and was published in the gay romance magazine Forbidden Fruit. And then I sort of forgot about it.

Recently I re-discovered it lurking in a file, dug it out, dusted it off, and realised it would work just as well as a book. I’ve added a lot of extra material, including a whole sub-plot about a ghost and lots more back-story about the characters, including County Archaeologist Steve, right-hand-man Jon, and devious businessman Paul. It fought back every inch of the way (I swear I’m never using the word ‛warfare’ in a book title again!) but I finally finished it to my own satisfaction, and published it at the end of May.

The result is an ultra-sweet, no-sex, plot-heavy romance involving a rescue dig to find a town’s missing priory before the local developers build a swanky apartment block. There’s also a set of mysterious stairs, something nasty lurking in the undercroft, and of course, that out-of-place gold cross. You’ll have to read the book to see just how that contributes to the overall story – but I’m hoping you’ll have a riotous time finding out!

Buy Trench Warfare, £2.99 / KU

An Excerpt from Trench Warfare

‛This one?’ Jon tapped it with his trowel.
Before I could reply the stone tapped back. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like. Three more taps, fainter and more muffled, coming from underground. I looked at Jon and Jon looked at me; a kind of unspoken question-and-answer passed between us and with a lift of his eyebrow he tapped again.
One-two-three.
A pause.
Then fainter, more muffled, one-two-three.
‛An echo?’ Jon’s voice was rough; what I could see of his face under all the hair was pale.
‛Must be. It could be a well-shaft. They’d have needed water, and we haven’t found one yet.’
‛True, although there’s the stream…’ He didn’t even finish the sentence. The tapping had sounded again. This time Jon hadn’t tapped first. And there were more than three.
Tap-tap-tap; tap-tap-tap. Tap.
It sounded, weirdly, like Morse code. But that was ridiculous. There could hardly be a transmitter down there, let alone anyone to operate it. It must be the well. We’d probably disturbed some smaller stones, and they were falling down the shaft and echoing. That was all. Except that it wasn’t all. Not by a long way. The tapping started again, and this time it wasn’t Morse, or any kind of code, but a frenzied jag of sound like someone beating, pounding, to be let out. And then the stone began to move.
‛What the fuck?’ Jon leaped back as though someone had poured scalding water on his legs.
I wasn’t far behind. We stared at each other; my heart was pounding and I could feel sweat prickling on my brow. Fight or flight, they call it, and I’d have given a lot to fly right out of that trench. Or to grab Jon and hang on. But my feet seemed locked to the ground. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t get out, and the stone was working itself loose. And whatever was underneath it would overwhelm me and drag me back down to—
‛Steve? Steve! Come quickly!’
Concrete feet or not, I jumped at that. But this was no ghostly presence; it was coming from the other side of site. And it sounded hoarse.
Jon took my elbow and hoisted me out of the trench, and then I reached a hand down and hauled him out. We stood for a moment, eyeing each other. I still wanted that hug, but couldn’t ask. It wouldn’t be fair on him when he wasn’t that way inclined. I laughed nervously instead, trying to work out if what I’d seen was a normal, natural force or something else.
‛Steve!’ Ben, the shorter of the Flowerpots, appeared round the corner of the site hut, panting as though he’d been running and waving his arms around. ‛Are you there? You have to come.’
Whatever was under that moving stone would have to wait. My first thought was that there’d been yet another disaster. We’d had burglary, fire, stones that moved by themselves and threats; what was next? And was this what Paul had meant by accidents? I dropped my trowel and ran, aware of Jon at my heels.
Ben had already turned back. By the time I caught up he was standing near the garderobe trench, staring at a heap of soil. Next to him stood Bill, a spade still in one hand. He too was looking down. My heart rate hitched up a notch again. Please God, don’t be a dead body. That would be the worst. The delays, the police involved, the paperwork, even for something that was hundreds of years old. But then I saw Ben’s face. His eyes gleamed with excitement, but it was happy excitement, not dread. I breathed again. ‛What’s with all the shouting? What’s going on?’
‛Oh, you know, just your average chance discovery.’ Bill indicated with one corner of his spade. ‛And it’s only fucking gold.’

You can find ‛Trench Warfare’ on Kindle for only £2.99 (or whatever your local equivalent is) or free on Kindle Unlimited, and I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. And if you fancy catching up with Time Team, there are various classic episodes available on YouTube, and some new, online-only programmes on the same platform.

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Time Team TV programme... Tony Robinson and Professor Mick Aston.