Carol Purves

Our meeting of the Carlisle Christian Writers produced the usual mixture of fun, laughter and brilliant writing.  I marvelled at the variety of work that one title could give and many different storms were read out.

One member described vividly a storm he’d endured in Africa where the party had feared for their lives.  Another read a beautifully crafted poem about Jesus on the lake.  That was some storm the disciples witnessed! A member with a fertile imagination recalled a house she had seen in the West Country called The Storm House and invented a frightening story about it.  Creation weeping like a storm was used by another person.

Two people went down the historical route, describing a storm where a father and daughter rescued members of a stricken vessel and another wrote about  a bridge collapsing and a train and passengers plunging into the raging river below.  We felt ourselves clever when we recognised Grace Darling and the Dundee Rail disaster.

Our next topic is ‘Space‘, so I can only say, watch this space.

Carol, a stormy writer.

No, I’m not ‘sad’, but this was part of a research project that I needed to do as a freelance writer.

Thank you to everyone who sent me a Christmas card.  I’ve analyzed the type of cards they were and their pictures.  46% of the cards I received were bought in aid of a charity(many for the Woodland Trust).  Maybe it’s easier to put our hands in our pocket, than to roll up our sleeves and get our hands dirty.  When I offered to pray for a friend’s wife the other day.  He said  ‘Don’t just pray, do something’.  It made me think.

23% of the cards had nativity scenes on the front.  Before we tut, tut about that, I read somewhere that Victorian cards seldom had stable pictures.  So it’s not a sign that as a country we’re becoming less Christian.

19% featured pictures of snow.  That must be a secret wish to have the beauty without the inconvenience; 7% portrayed Christmas trees, without the snow.  These gave a feeling of homeliness.  Robins appeared on 6%.  Many years ago I remember my mother commenting that nearly all the cards showed robins.  Are they disappearing from our cards , as they are in real life?  6% featured holly.  I don’t know what that means.

Please continue to send me cards at Christmas.  My decorations look bare without them.

Carol, the Christmas girl.

For the uninitiated, that’s the day after Boxing Day.

  I spent the day with Edinburgh brother and Edinburgh Christmas lights.  Both well worth seeing.

The highlight of the day was a ride on the big wheel.  Not as high as the London Eye, (visited twice by me, once in daylight and once by night) but more scary because the capsules were open to the sky and elements.  Not that we had many elements – little breeze, cool temperatures but good visibility.  I suppose that’s the most important thing.  Princes Street looked quite different from that angle, the Scot Monument seemed within touching distance and the ice rink far below resembled a Lowry painting.

A quick walk (in my case not too quick) up Carlton Hill completed the day.  My photos from the various view points were interesting and well worth keeping.

May you all have a blessed 2013.

Carol, the high-flyer

Now the days are dark, dreary and wet, wet, wet, I look back to a lovely day I had only a few weeks ago.

The picturesque village of Caldbeck with only 700 inhabitants, 13 miles from Carlisle and 20 minutes drive from Ullswater and Keswick, is bursting with atmosphere and history.  My brother and I parked the car up on the fells and walked down to the village.  Even on this day an umbrella was needed.  As we commenced our walk we looked down on the Solway Coast (AOWB) and over to Knott and back of Skiddaw.

We ate a delicious meal at the Oddfellow’s Arms which I believe is now the only pub in the village.  It was here that the infamous John Peel used to drink.  I asked the landlord if they had any memorabilia, to which he replied curtly, ‘No’.  Oh dear, I suppose everyone asks that question.

We ambled along to the churchyard where John Peel is buried (died 1854) along with several members of his large family.  Before our ascent up the hill we visited the church, St Kentigern’s which was commenced in 1112 on an original site used in the 6th century.  Since then, of course, there have been many alterations and additions.

Carol, visitor to the Lake District National Park

I felt this would be a good time to remind you about my first and most successful book – Chinese Whispers. The story of Gladys Aylward would make an ideal Christmas present or a New Year present for someone who got overlooked at Christmas.

Gladys was born and educated in Edmonton, East London and never gained any scholastic qualifications.  Whilst working as a parlour maid, she accepted the Lord as her Saviour and felt the call to be a missionary in China.  Not being accepted by the China Inland Mission, she made her own way to China.  The hazards she met on the Trans Siberian Railway would fill a book in themselves.

On one occasion the train entered a war zone and could travel no further.  Gladys had to walk back down the track for a day and a half to reach safety.  (The howling she heard in the night were not dogs as she supposed, but wolves)  Being mistaken for a ‘machinist’ instead of ‘missionary’, which was the wording on her passport, she was nearly kidnapped.

Once in China she ran a hotel for mule train drivers, was shot in the shoulder by rebels, escaped over the mountains to safety with nearly a hundred children as well as facing a crazed axeman in prison.  The film ‘The Inn of the Sixth Happiness’ was based on her life but very much glamorized.

Contact www.dayone.co.uk to obtain a copy of this book.

Carol, the author of Chinese Whispers.

At the Carlisle Christian Writers we always set homework and for our last meeting – see above.  Our unusual topic produced some unusual results.

One member wrote about an unusual wedding present – a porcelain figure of ‘the praying hands’, so popular at that time.  Never liked by her or her husband, they eventually managed to give it away to an admirer.

Two members were able to quote from books they had written and another person gave each person a small shell, a replica of a larger one she had been given by a loved one.  The message was ‘ you can give this away but what will you do with the gift God has given us?’  Two other member wrote thoughtful poems.

The rest of the time was taken up by writing limericks, followed by coffee/tea, of course.  And the next piece of homework – you must wait and see.

Finally, to make you smile –

‘Exaggeration is a billion time worse than overstatement’.

And ‘Take the bull by the hand and avoid mixed metaphors, even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed’

Carol, the recipient of unusual presents.

Carlisle to Oban, train fare, £17.  Shame not to take advantage of it.  Booked into a hotel high up the hill near the Mc Caig’s Monument with a bedroom view  of the whole bay, spectacular when dark with harbour lights, illuminations and ships slipping out to goodness knows where.  One way up was 149 steps, but the view  worth it.

Managed to find time to go on an hour’s sea trip to see a seal colony.  Unfortunately they weren’t told we were coming (wrong time of year), so we saw cormorants and oyster catchers instead!  The commentary on the boat was delivered in a strong Obanian accent (or was it Gaelic?)

Fascinated by one passenger who with some ‘Apple’ gadget circled round and round, photographing all the time. Then sat down to view the results.  She never once looked at the fascinating scenery first hand.  Shame.

Another passenger from Dundee said back in the 60’s, she worked in the jute mills, but only lasted six weeks.  All the mills are closed now and the jute comes from Poland.

Visited a chocolate factory and sampled their wares.  Visited a whisky factory and sampled their wares.  Loved the whole town and hope to revisit.

Carol, the Oban visitor

Life is full of excitement at the moment – Putting the clocks back (extra hour in bed, all in favour of that), Halloween (as a Christian, all against that, we only need one spirit, the Holy Spirit) and now Bonfire Night (I’m all in favour of that, even though we’re celebrating a traitor who was eventually hanged).  We need a bit of pleasure with winter approaching (The kill joys say it just goes up in smoke).

Carlisle is justly proud of their display with 30,000 attending.  As I can’t cope with 30,000 people, mud and jostle, we stood with dozens on the Eden Bridges.   We didn’t see the fire but we did see the fireworks, sparkling, cascading and exploding over the River Eden.

This year the theme of the fire was the Jubilee, with iconic models, a London bus, a Spitfire, a tardis etc, which all burned brilliantly.  Then the 15 minute walk home to hot soup and yammy doughnuts.

Carol, the bonfire night enthusiast.

In my search for unusual bus routes I needed to visit Skinburness on the west coast of Cumbria just north of Sillouth.   I’d been told that the sea flooded the road at high tide.  (though this proved to be untrue). This would have been an unusual attraction.  The hotel at the end of the bus route was long since closed and in all this was a no-go idea.

Meanwhile I had to get back home.  It hadn’t been raining when I started; now I was experiencing the three inches of rain.  I hadn’t realised it was the time of Neap Tides.  Before long the roads became flooded, then they became flooded closed and then they became flooded by the swollen rivers.

At one point the van in front of me was unable to get through a flood, so I knew I would never manage it.  After attempting a three point turn in a very narrow country road, I was rescued by a knight in shining armour (actually the white van driver; I was blocking his retreat). I k new I could have managed the manoeuvre myself, but I’m not one to decline an offer of help.  Obviously I did get home safely.

Carol, the nearly stranded

Being a free-lance writer gives many fun opportunities.  When I ask my friends strange questions relating to their field of expertise, I just say ‘I’m a free-lance writer’.

My latest adventure was to write about a special bus journey.  After asking friends who knew the area better than me, I settled on the 680, which runs from Brampton to Alston.  The unusual thing is that this bus starts the day as a school bus, then becomes a public service bus but at the end of the day reverts to transporting children.

Of course I had to travel on the bus myself so I could write about it.  I chose a wet day (Well, I didn’t choose it, nearly every day is wet this year and it was my only free day.  The downside was I had to spent five hours in Alston in the rain.

Never mind, I’m a writer.  I spent time in the library and two visits to cafes, writing all the time.  It’s not only J.K.Rowling who writes in cafes.

Brilliant day.  If you want to know more – read the book.

Carol, the J.K.Rowling impersonator.