The A to Z Challenge: B is for Benjamin

For the month of April, I've decided to join the A-Z blog challenge. This means I'll make a sterling effort to produce twenty-six blog posts during April, one for every letter of the alphabet, each having some connection with my books and their setting.


B is for Benjamin, known within the family as Benjy.

Benjy is the youngest child in a large family. His parents' genes have combined very successfully in him. He has his father's quiet intelligence, along with his imagination and ability to see beyond "how things are", and his mother's skill at getting her own way. His perseverance he shares with both of them.

It's ironic that someone so good at mixing with people should have been named after an uncle who was quite the reverse. Benjy's Uncle Ben is based on a real person from the trove of old family tales my late father-in-law used to share with me. The real-life model for Ben intensely disliked strangers, to the extent that when his brother married and dared bring "a strange woman" to the farmhouse he walked off the farm and never again darkened the family's doorstep. When their father died and the estate needed to be settled, his siblings had to advertise far and wide in an attempt (in vain, as far as I know) to contact him.

Benjy has a great way with people, and a tendency to light up the room with that smile of his—not to mention a tendency to take over the page! In an extended family with a tradition of farming or other rural trades, and of work passed on from father to son, Benjy has very different ambitions. I plan to give him a book of his own eventually, but he'll have to wait his turn.

I've yet to see an actor who matches my image of Benjy. A younger (and blonder) James McAvoy might approach it.

The A to Z Challenge: A is for Amy

For the month of April, I've decided to join the A-Z blog challenge. This means I'll make a sterling effort to produce twenty-six blog posts during April, one for every letter of the alphabet, each having some connection with my books and their setting.

In nineteenth century New Zealand, there are few choices for a farm girl like Amy. Her life seems mapped out for her by the time she is twelve. Amy dreams of an exciting life in the world beyond her narrow boundaries. But it is the two people who come to the farm from outside the valley who change her life forever, and Amy learns the high cost of making the wrong choice.

Amy is the main character in Promises to Keep and A Second Chance, and I'll freely admit that I love her dearly. She's had many challenges and trials, but her strength of spirit and capacity for love have carried her through.

She's twelve years old in 1881 when we first meet her, and already running a household for her father and brothers, her own dreams set aside for the sake of duty.

Amy's small of stature, with dark hair, a pale complexion, and blue eyes. When I'm casting the imaginary television series in my head, I see someone a little like Kiwi actress Brooke Williams (but with curlier hair) in the role:

 

The A to Z Challenge

For the month of April, I've decided to join the A-Z blog challenge. This means I'll make a sterling effort to produce twenty-six blog posts during April, one for every letter of the alphabet, each having some connection with my books and their setting.

The entry for "A" will appear on the 1st of April. 

Horse-riding in the Dart Valley

It's been quite a few years since I last went horse-riding. At one point I even took lessons for a year—mostly so that I'd be able to write with reasonable accuracy about people whose main mode of transport, other than walking, was via horse, but also because it was just plain fun. Then my riding teacher retired, I got busy with other things, and riding just stopped happening.

We were recently in lovely Glenorchy, at the head of Lake Wakatipu, and while there we took the opportunity to go exploring by horseback. I had a particular motivation, as some characters will come to this area in a future book (not the one I'm currently writing, but I like to plan ahead), and part of their journey will be on horseback.

The drive to Glenorchy is a stunning one:

At the head of the lake, the Dart River empties into it:

Our ride was to follow the river along the Dart Valley:

We're surrounded by mountains here. The range to the left is the Humboldts, which were among those used to portray the Misty Mountains in The Lord of the Rings movies. They were filmed at a snowier time of year!

We went with Dart Stables, and were very happy with our choice. The horses were well cared for and well schooled, the guides highly capable, good at inspiring confidence, and clearly very fond of the horses.

Dart is rather different from many such operations in that (despite the name) they don't actually stable their horses. Instead the horses live outdoors all year round, forming herds rather like wild horses do. And just as in such wild herds, there's quite a strong hierarchy among these horses. While there's some fluidity in this ranking, at any one time the top horse is most definitely on top, the lowest ranking one is at the bottom, and each horse is well aware of who is currently higher or lower than him/herself.

The guides need to take this hierarchy into account when assigning horse to rider, along with the rider's skill and size, while also allowing (human) couples to ride together. I think this must only be possible at all because they know their horses so well; as it was, they made a great job of it with our group. I got Baxter, a nice old thoroughbred with a mind of his own who rather gives the lie to a saying I used to hear as a child: "You can't fatten a thoroughbred". Roger got a sweet-natured fellow called Trevor who, it emerged, is a film star: he was in Prince Caspian. Trevor is most definitely well above Baxter in the hierarchy, so he set off ahead of Baxter and me.

We chatted along the route, sharing our different backgrounds and interests. Of course my most particular interest came up, and I mentioned that this area will appear in one of my books, with characters travelling on horseback. One of the guides was quite familiar with the history of the area, including the former practice of using horses on the early section of the Routeburn track, and we had an interesting discussion.

As the morning wore on, Baxter was becoming noticeably more lively. His ears were pricked, and there was an extra spring in his step. He was also beginning to push himself forward, doing his best to nudge in ahead of Trevor. At first I held him back, but eventually since it was obvious that Trevor was quite content to fall in behind, the guides suggested that I let Baxter take Trevor's place in the line.

They were both very surprised that Baxter had managed to get Trevor to allow this, remarking several times that they could not get over Baxter's confidence or Trevor's obligingness. We finally decided on what the answer must be: Baxter had obviously been paying close attention to the conversation, and had now decided that he was going to be

IN A BOOK!

Baxter claiming his new place as we prepare for a river crossing:

and perhaps plotting his next move up the line—he did gain one more place when the horse in front of him held back at the crossing (Baxter loves water). If the ride had lasted much longer, I think he had ideas of being in the lead!


Baxter and Trevor, with riders:

Rangitoto Island

One of the delights of writing my books is the excuse it gives for visiting interesting places. I hadn't been to Rangitoto Island for many years, but when a character decided to go on an outing there in my work-in-progress, I decided it was high time I paid the island a visit.

Rangitoto Island is a familiar sight to anyone who's visited Auckland. The island is roughly circular, so it looks the same from all directions. It's a relatively young volcano, last erupting a mere 500 or so years ago.

We took the ferry over one morning, and set out to climb to the 260-metre (850 feet) summit.

The dominant species of Rangitoto's forest cover is pohutukawa, sometimes called the New Zealand Christmas Tree for its profusion of red flowers at Christmastime (we were there just a little too early for its flowering). Pohutukawa and other species are gradually covering the island, especially since the major pest eradication of recent decades, but there are still large areas of bare lava flow:

Those fields of jagged lava make it all the more impressive to see how vegetation takes hold, survives, and eventually thrives in this challenging environment.

Looking into the crater from the summit:

We walked around the crater, with fine views in all directions:

On our descent, we took a short detour to the lava caves. These were formed when the outside of lava flows cooled while the contents kept moving, leaving hollow tubes:

We made a more leisurely day of this lovely outing than the energetic young visitors of my work-in-progress, but enjoyed it just as much as they did.

The Bush-farmer's Scourge

There's a section in Mud and Gold when Frank faces near-disaster after several of his cows get into a patch of poisonous plants:

One of his cows lay on the ground, straining to get to her feet and moaning with the effort. Another was a few feet away, her unnaturally stiff limbs making it obvious she had been dead for some hours. Frank knew the cause even before he saw the scrubby plants around the edge of the clearing with their distinctive pattern of growth, each leaf directly opposite its pair on the long, thin branches instead of alternating up the stem: tutu, the bush farmer’s scourge, and perversely attractive to livestock.

Tutu (Coriaria arborea) is still fairly common in many parts of New Zealand. The eastern Bay of Plenty, where my fictional Ruatane is set, has traditionally had some large concentrations of this plant. Tutu is highly poisonous, and over the years it has caused many stock deaths, mostly in sheep and cattle. It's even been responsible for the deaths of two circus elephants which were inadvertently allowed to graze it, once in 1869 and again in 1957.

Humans, too, have felt the ill-effects of tutu, especially in the 19th century; sometimes attracted by the shiny berries, but more often from eating honey made by bees that have fed on tutu honeydew. My husband's grandfather fell dangerously ill as a young man from eating tutu-contaminated honey; fortunately he made a full recovery.

I rarely see tutu these days unless I'm travelling further afield, as it doesn't seem to grow well in this area (which is probably for the best!), but I did come across a patch on a recent outing. Here's a flourishing plant:

Note the distinctive growth pattern, with the deeply-veined leaves set opposite each other on the stems. Those long trailing stalks will have flowers later in the season, followed by invitingly shiny dark berries.

Maori skilled in plant lore used to make a delicacy from tutu berries, after carefully straining out the toxic seeds, but it's not something to be attempted lightly.

Frank learned a hard lesson in the vital importance of maintaining fences; a lesson he never forgot.

Russell

If you've read A Second Chance, you may recall that A Certain Character is "exiled" to a small town north of Auckland called Russell. He greets the news with outrage:

‘I can’t go and live in Russell! Good Lord, I’m not sure I even know where it is.’

‘You certainly can’t continue to live in Auckland. Unless prison appeals, that is. And I’ll see that you find your way to Russell, you need have no fear on that score. It’s quite a distance north, but a boat goes there occasionally. I understand a good deal of fish is shipped out of Russell—I believe it’s the only real activity in the area these days—so it’s possible the boat may be somewhat odiferous, but that can’t be helped.’

Russell had a wild past in the early 19th century, though by the time of A Second Chance it was something of a sleepy backwater—not an appealing place for a man used to the dizzy social life of Auckland. But despite his ill-informed reaction, Russell is a charming little town, and one we re-visited just recently.

Although it can be reached by road, Russell has something of an island feel about it. My favourite way to visit the town is by ferry across the bay from Paihia:

The red-roofed building on the right of the photograph is the Duke of Marlborough Hotel, which, although re-built after fires, has been on its present site for over 170 years. I imagine our exile visiting this establishment as often as his slender means allow.

The pretty building on the left is Russell's police station:

Until 1890 this was the town's Custom House, built in 1870 when Russell was a much busier port.

Not far from this building is a modest cottage:

I envisage our exile in a cottage very like this one. He sees it as quite a come-down after his grand house in Auckland—though, as several readers have remarked, it's rather better than he deserved. It would be nice to think he learned to be grateful, but I doubt it.