Island of Dreams

I have just heard that the Guernseyman, a post-war magazine edited by my late father, Harry Brown, is to be featured in the Guernsey Press to coincide with the first ever Guernsey Literary Festival which runs from May 12-15 2011. Organised by the Guernsey Arts Commission, the festival will be an ideal way for everyone to get to know more about the island's past and discover the creative yearning it has inspired in so many people. It's the stuff dreams are made of...

A taste of my new novel...

GUERNSEY 1941

A full moon cast shadows over the blackened rocks as two figures stumbled along the cliff path.

‘Have you done this before?’  He pulled the brambles aside.

‘Done what?’

‘This walk, in the blackout. If the Germans catch you they’ll shoot.’

‘Not when I’m with you, Reverend Martel, surely?’

‘I’m not immune, Lydia.  The enemy’s still the enemy.’

 ‘And I’m still free.’ She forced her way past him. ‘Why did you have to follow me?’

‘I was worried, that’s all. Tell me what’s wrong.’ A cloud passed over the moon, plunging them into darkness. 

‘Nothing.’ She hesitated.  ‘Well, if you must know, it’s Otto Kruger. I think he suspects something. He’s been behaving strangely recently.’

            ‘Damn the bloody Commandant. I’m sick of hearing you talk about him. I hope he burns in hell.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lydia frowned. ‘You know why I see Otto…’

Martin winced as the name left her lips. ‘Of course I know. And you’re doing a grand job from what I can gather.’

‘A job you asked me to do, don’t forget.’

‘I didn’t ask you, if you remember.’

‘But you didn’t stop me either…’

‘What was I supposed to do?’ Get down on my knees and beg?’ His face contorted.  ‘They’ll give you sainthood after the war and raise a flag on Castle Cornet. “Saint Lydia”-how does that sound?’

‘STOP IT, STOP IT…’  Her hand struck his jaw with a loud crack.

A trickle of blood ran down his chin.

‘I deserved that,’ he said, wiping his mouth with his knuckle. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me?’  He turned, abruptly, striding back down the path and disappeared into the night.

A Guernsey Double

I have just finished reading 'A Guernsey Double' by poets Peter Kenny and Richard Fleming. A truly emotive work, it brings back many deep-rooted memories of my childhood on the island. I particularly enjoyed Peter's 'Night Walk' and 'Erbaut 1942,' both dark poems with the power to provoke. Even the strongest sceptic would feel bound to question his own mortality. But you don't need to love Guernsey to enjoy this book - the message is there for us all.

Guernsey poppies...

I love poppies but nothing beats the sight of Guernsey poppies growing in the wild on a summer's day. This photo was taken in June 2010 near Saints Bay. It inspires me every time I sit down to write. Who needs January? Roll on the summer.....

Guernsey or Blackpool? Writer's choice!

I live on the outskirts of Blackpool but I was born in Guernsey. They both have sea, sand and sunshine (in summer, at least!) and they both mean something to me.  Are there any   Blackpudlians out there now living in the Channel Islands? Or any Guernsey folk living in Lancashire? If so - please get in touch...

New Year, New Novel

Bring on 2011...

 A hypnotic mix of love, loyalty, heartbreak and revenge -  my new novel is set in the German Occupation of the Channel Islands during World War Two.  It tells the story of Lydia Le Page, a young and carefree student who joins the resistance after the Germans almost destroy her family. Forced to sleep with the enemy she has  one enduring hope that keeps her alive on the paradise island that has become her prison.

Memories of a Christmas baby

My father wanted to call me David.  Until he saw me,  that is.  'It's a girl' he announced on that long ago Christmas Eve in Guernsey, 'but I wanted a boy!' Apparently I stuck two fingers in my mouth and went back to sleep. My mother's response is not on record.

An Icy reply...

Today's snow reminds me of my first job as a cub reporter.  I was standing outside the Winter Gardens in Blackpool, freezing to the spot, when I caught sight of the Press Officer.
'Mr Davies!' I yelled. 'Have you got a minute?'
'Not now,' he said, brushing me aside, 'I'm waiting for the chap from the Gazette.'
'I am the chap from the Gazette,' I replied, smiling sweetly.
Those were the days......

Island at War

Guernsey is in the news again. Scores of secret files, hidden away since the 1960's show for the first time the appalling treatment of deported islanders during the Occupation - particularly if they were suspected of any form of resistance.  The documents tell  of people who were forced to listen to fellow prisoners being decapitated by guillotine in German prison camps. This  provies, without doubt,  that conditions were far worse than first imagined.  I wonder if there is anyone out there who still remembers?