It is (not quite) all About the Books – Isolation Day 79

Isolation continues for me. I was just thinking that I might feel like going for a socially distanced walk when the idiocy factor ramped up and folk flocked westward in their droves. I’ll sit tight as the second wave tsunamis in; unfortunately I think it is inevitable. I do know that I am lucky to have this option. I am pleased for those who can now meet family in parks and gardens. It does make it hit harder that the gardens I’d want to socially distance in are 300 miles away though. So, I’ll continue to #staysafe, grit my teeth and enjoy my own garden. Suddenly, the facts that the single baby blue tit has fledged and the poppies are blooming seem hugely significant.

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This latest update is mostly about books though. I am gearing up for the cover/title reveal for novel #2. It is now in the hands of the publishers. There really are only so many times you can delete a comma and then put it back again on the eleventy billionth read through. I am looking at today’s appalling worldwide news stories and sadly, the book’s theme of intolerance is all too relevant. I am excited to report that the talented Dan Britton has written a companion song for this book too. Recording it under lockdown conditions was challenging but the end result is perfect. The plan is that it will be available, along with two other tracks on a similar theme, on 29 August, along with the book. Ninety days to go! Don’t forget that I am gradually leaking hints about its contents.

In other writing news, I’ve been commissioned to write a school textbook and that is finally making progress. My online One-Place Studies course for Pharos is ready for presentation in September (bookings are already coming in and more than a third of the places are filled). I am looking forward to speaking about writing your memories for Crediton Literary Festival on 6 June. There are some excellent talks, you can attend from anywhere in the world and better still it is free. All you have to do is apply for the link to join the audience.

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I am getting some exciting invitations for online presentations so watch this space. Thoughts are turning to ‘what next?’ I am playing with an idea that is set in the seventeenth century again but not Devon related. I am wondering if I can write ‘at a distance’, as I normally work by immersing myself in the locations. I am also thinking of reviving my collection of North Devon emigrant stories and I may work these two alongside each other. Then again, I might just sit and do nothing!

I have been working on ‘writing-up’ the accounts of a few more branches of the family that have been neglected over the years. These are not beautifully crafted stories crammed with context, that’s just what I advise my students to produce! At least if I can get the broad outline done, I can add the flavouring later. Some of these offerings do appear on my website. Woolgar, Bulley, Dawson and Hogg are amongst the more substantial accounts, if you are thinking of taking a look. Currently, I am working on the sorry tale of a shipwreck that took place during the Napoleonic Wars, when the vessel went aground off the Dutch Coast but the crew thought they were in the Humber Estuary.

By the way, if anyone is wondering abut the fate of the parcels mentioned in my previous post, they arrived relatively unscathed.

Unhappy Post: or why parcels should never be triangular – Isolation Day 74

Martha, Rob and Edward have been posting and hand delivering ‘Happy Post’ to scores of people during lockdown. It is part of their fundraising effort for Calvert Trust Exmoor, where they all spent an amazing holiday last year and hope to again this summer, if circumstances allow. It is a wonderful facility, providing experiences for individuals with a range of disabilities and their families. I thought they and Rebecca’s family too, deserved some happy post in return and wanted to time it for when the husbands went back to full-time work out of the home. In the first instance, it was a total fail on the finding anything suitable to send front. In the end, I managed to get a game for each family that I thought they would enjoy. Rather than send them direct, I thought I would order them to be delivered to me, then I could add other things before sending the parcels on.

I did wonder why the items arrived not in a box but liberally wrapped in bubble wrap (useful for future book orders). The answer dear reader is because the games are packed in triangular boxes. Very aesthetically pleasing but totally impractical. I foresee the recipients not being best pleased with me when they try to find a home for said boxes. I had a complete lack of larger boxes in which to pack said triangular boxes. With permission, I sent the fisherman of my acquaintance, to raid the community shop’s recycling bin. This is about as exciting as it gets for him going out wise. The shop is next door but one. I am still not going out at all – well apart from a quick drive to charge the car battery and not then getting out the car. My co-lockdownee was however going stir crazy, so he is now going out for ‘exercise’ but not, I hasten to add, to Barnards Castle, or to any country estate anywhere. I digress, Parcels.

Well, we managed to find one box that I could pack a ridiculous triangular box in (with a bit of gentle persuasion). I congratulated myself that it was even just small enough to be sent for £2.95 instead of £5.05. Win! Now, this parcel also had to contain my son-in-law’s pants. Why? you may well ask. Firstly, I wish to make it clear that these are new pants, thankfully. By dint of clicking the wrong address button, Martha had ordered them to come to me instead of her, so now they needed to be sent to their rightful owner. Well, who knew how weighty pants were? With the added 1kg of pants, the parcel was now too heavy to go for £2.95.

I wrapped the parcel with lashings of tape and string. I am a bit of a dab hand at tying parcels. Once a girl guide……… AFTER the parcel was secured more tightly than UK Civil Service Twitter accounts, I get an email from Martha ‘could you just post me…….’ Maybe next time.

There was still the second triangle to tackle. Nothing we could find constituted a suitable container. We tried and failed, to construct a box out of other boxes. In the end I gave up completely and went for the solution adopted by the original seller. Copious amounts of bubble wrap. Then I needed some kind of strongish bag. Ah T****s shopping is currently being delivered in strongish bags, excellent. I put the cursed triangular box inside a T****s bag and then realised that it was the one the loose onions had come in, so it was already occupied by plenty of onion skin. By now this whole venture was seeming like a BAD IDEA. The T****s bag, now relieved of most of the onion skin, was not quite large enough. Cue black bin bag. Now I am a cheap skate, not for me the ultra-strong, suitable for posting things in, black bin bags. Oh no. Mine are really thin and flimsy with a stupid pleat at the bottom, tear as soon as they are looked at black sacks.  Reinforcement is required. Parcel tape doesn’t quite cut it. I am also having issues with removing excess air from the parcel; it is a little akin to deflating a lilo. Ah ha! The ubiquitous gaffer tape is to hand. The parcel is now wrapped tighter than a mummy. I suspect they will have a bit of a job trying to open it. I hope the corners survive the journey.

The story is not yet over. So far, we have only posted parcels that fit in the postbox over the road. Sending these on their way will entail running the gauntlet of the mobile post van. I’d better look out the Hazmat suit before casting the fisherman of my acquaintance into the abyss. Oh, and we have no masks, now where did I put that gaffer tape?

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Faint Passports Never Won – well, anything really – Isolation Day 65

One of the downsides of lockdown for me has been that I am unable to get out and about to share my love of all things historical with many wonderful people. It has been inevitable but sad, to watch one speaking engagement after another tumble like a domino rally. Fortunately, I am starting to replace some of these talks with online versions. A consequence of not meeting audiences in person is that I have lost one of my main book-selling opportunities. This is not just financially significant. In a couple of months, a pallet containing a very large number of boxes of novel number two will hopefully be landing on my driveway. I need to shift existing stock to make space. Oh, you want another clue? Happy to oblige, novel two includes little known facts about what is a fairly well-known local incident. Very soon there will be a title/cover reveal. The cover is amazing – thank you Robin of The Branch Line.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, selling books, or in this case, not selling as many books as I need to in the next three months in order to have any room whatsoever in my tiny cottage. In the past, I have added myself as a potential book seller on Amazon. I stopped doing this because it was a pain removing myself again on the many occasions when I was away from home. You can’t just leave the items up for sale as you have to be able to send out purchases within 48 hours. As it doesn’t look as if I will be going anywhere anytime soon, I thought I’d reactive my Amazon seller status. Well dear reader, how long have you got?

I suspect because the dreaded GDPR has loomed its ugly head since I was last a seller, I am required to jump through the hoop of proving I am a person and that I am actually me. I assure you I am me, although when I look in the mirror, I do wonder why I am my mother. ‘Send a copy of your passport’. Thankfully, I do have one. I photograph my passport. Maybe I didn’t get its best side or something but back comes the message ‘your details do not match, change your surname to FEWB’. Well the whole deed poll thing seems a bit unnecessary, especially as FEWB is not my name. Was three letters too short or something? My passport didn’t have a superfluous B on it. I heave myself off the chair and go to scan the passport instead, on the highest possible resolution. It takes ages, whirring merrily away. I now have a jpg (acceptable format) of two pages of passport when I require only one. It is also 11MB and the maximum I can upload is 10MB. Fine, I will edit it. I edit jpgs all the time. For some reason, which ever programme I choose, it will not let me edit the file. Eventually, I use my snipping tool to take a screen shot. Ok so the instructions do say ‘we cannot accept a screen shot’ but how will they know? I send it off. Back comes the message ‘your passport is too faint’. Too faint? Well that’s hardly my fault. I haven’t irresponsibly been leaving it to fade in high sunlight or anything. I click on the link for ‘if you are having trouble’ and compose a message expressing my frustration and seeking advice.

Time passes. The process has already been spread over two days and taken me a couple of hours to not sort. An email arrives. It sets out a carbon copy of what to do, exactly as it appears on the webpage where you upload faint passports. ‘Does this answer your question?’ they jovially ask. Well, errr, no. Then it occurs to a fisherman of my acquaintance that, although passports are mentioned, my driving licence contains similar information. Worth a shot. By this time, I really can’t face another journey upstairs to the scanner. In my defence, this is not the height of lockdown laziness (well not entirely) but my back does still prefer it if I don’t move from sitting to standing too often. No immediate rejection message. I cross my fingers. No ‘this has worked’ email either though. I wait. Finally, when lamenting my plight to a friend, she checks and discovers that there my books are there, happily listed, so it must have worked! Now all I need is people to buy them in droves and if that happens, people to donate recycled bubble wrap! Actually, if you are reading this, please don’t buy my books on Amazon at all, just contact me. It will cost you the same but it saves me a few pennies (actually quite a lot of pennies). A thousand sales before the end of July isn’t too much to hope for is it? Ok, so it is but I can dream.

What with this and the shopping order that mysteriously disappeared (long and really not very interesting story – even less interesting than the one you’ve just read), I am reluctant to face the next learning curve, which is finally giving in to entreaties to do my tax return online. I have no problem at all with completing it on paper and it would normally be done by now. This year however I have had a letter saying they are not going to send me a paper form. I do know, that if I ring up and wait on hold for a couple of hours (because my call is important to them), they will send a form but I am fairly proficient with online, I should be able to do it. Shouldn’t I?

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More Lockdown Ramblings – Isolation day 62

I am trying not to dwell on the fact that, right now, you should be reading day 4 of a month’s worth of daily holiday posts from Ireland. It is a bit difficult to make much newsworthy from life chez-moi. As mentioned in my previous post, I chose to honour my World War 2 ancestors on VE Day. As a family historian I was excited that my children and grandchildren did the same. All that indoctrination gentle persuasion must have worked. They had the advantage of places to display pictures and bunting that are visible from the road. Still, we did our best. Here are our collective family efforts.

In other other news, I have had to temporarily (who am I kidding?) abandon joining Joe Wicks for his daily P.E. sessions. Currently, I can barely move having done something to my back, possibly not as a result of doing star jumps and Pikachus (really best not to ask).

I have spent half my life on Zoom, including 24 hours (in two 12 hour stints) over a weekend, hosting a hastily arranged worldwide Braund family reunion. This wasn’t what we planned but had the huge advantage that those who could never attend our face-to-face gatherings were able to join in. We had 53 people from five countries drop in over the weekend, ranging in age from 1 to 80 something. I’ve also taken part in virtual coffee mornings, piano lessons, family history classes and author chats. It is a whole new world but one that we are adapting to. We even managed to get 8/9 family members on screen looking almost normal, well as normal as we get anyway. The 9th family member was present but was working from home at the time.

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The garden is coming on. The flower seeds seem to have been eaten but peas, beans and tomatoes have survived.  The cherry blossom and clematis have come and gone. Now we are enjoying the laburnum and guelder rose. The birds have been delightful, with Mr and Mrs Blue-tit currently feeding their brood. We also had a visit from a field mouse, who stayed around long enough to be photographed.

 

A Post for VE Day – Isolation Day 56

As an historian I want to mark today. As a family historian, I want to think about members of my family who experienced the Second World War first-hand, both those who were members of the armed forces and those who stayed at home running essential services, or bringing up children alone, often in fear and poverty. I am happy to mark today as the anniversary of the day that hostilities ceased in Europe. If I am honest, I am less comfortable with the whole ‘victory’ thing. It is a little like saying we are glad the enemy are dead. Much as I abhor Fascism in all its forms, I am very much aware that no one ‘side’ is wholly good or bad and the views of the ordinary soldiers, the ones who suffer, are frequently not those of their leaders. In war there are no winners.

So if you haven’t already un-followed me, here is my tribute to the members of my family who endured the Second World War.

My family is tiny, of the male descendants of my great grandparents on all four sides, only my father and two uncles were of an age to serve in World War 2. In addition, one of my grandfathers served in the Home Guard. My mother, who was twenty when the war ended, should in theory have been obliged to do some kind of war work. It has never been entirely clear to me why she didn’t. She worked as a book-keeper but I am not sure how that might have been considered to be essential. Perhaps she had some secret task that I am unaware of but I think that’s unlikely. Maybe, although she was liable for call-up from February 1944, the call never came. The only other female descendant of my great-grandparents to be of an age to serve, was my mum’s cousin Olive and she was in uniform.

My father, Cyril Albany Braund, was a cinema projectionist in peacetime. Cinemas were closed for the first fortnight of the war, in an attempt to prevent crowds gathering in public places but were re-opened as a boost to morale and a way of spreading edited news. With the extension of the call-up in May 1940, Cyril joined the Royal Air Force Reserve on 4 July, together with his close friend Eric (John) Golding. Cyril was now Gunner 1351715. By February 1941, Cyril was on a gunnery course on the Isle of Man, with the RAF Regiment. This was followed by a spell guarding airfields in Coventry. Initially attached to 2785 Squadron, early in 1943, Cyril was a member of 2731 Squadron at Docking in Norfolk. On the 5th of May that year, the squadron moved to Langham Regimental Training School. The next month saw periods spent in Great Sampford, Essex and at Catfoss in Yorkshire.

By the June of 1943 Cyril was with 2859 Squadron, which appears to have been newly formed, perhaps in the May. On 1 July, he was on board the troopship Francinia in the Clyde, about to embark for the Mediterranean. They docked first at Algiers and then in Malta. The convoy was attacked whilst in Malta but sustained no damage. They then proceeded to Sicily, where they were based at San Francesco airfield and were soon to come under fire once again. 2859 Squadron had a concert party and it is almost certain that Cyril, being a keen singer and pianist, would have participated. The climate began to take its toll and it was not long before malaria was diagnosed amongst the men. Cyril is known to have suffered from malaria but we don’t know when he was first taken ill.

In September 1943, the squadron moved to Falcone and it was there that they received the news of Italy’s capitulation. The concert party were still performing and were now calling themselves the Flak-Astras. After two weeks at Falcone, the squadron was moved to mainland Italy and arrived in Foggia in October. It was here that malaria claimed its first life amongst the squadron. After a five day journey, the squadron took up residence in Capodichino, Naples. Its role was to guard the airfields in the area. In May 1944 the squadron boarded the HMT Orontes at Naples and disembarked at Greenock. They then took the train to Sutton Bridge in Lincolnshire.

On 19 July 1944, Cyril was admitted to Queen Victoria’s Hospital in Herne Bay, Kent, before being transferred to the Municipal Hospital in Canterbury, where he spent three weeks, almost certainly suffering from malaria. By the time he rejoined his squadron, they were at Sibson in Cambridgeshire.

By the spring of 1945, with the end of the war in sight, Cyril was one of 34 other ranks and 3 SNCOs who were transferred to the army. His discharge document describes him as being ‘of very good character with a satisfactory degree of trade proficiency’. The following day, Cyril reported to Personnel Transit Station, Weeton, Preston in Lancashire for service in the territorial army. At interview the PSO observed, ‘Above average intelligence, bright, pleasant and alert. Has quite good ability all round and is keen to do well in the army. Should prove capable’. Cyril’s application form stated that he had a provisional driving license, that his sporting activities included football, cricket, swimming and a little boxing and that his hobby was sketching.

Cyril became part of the Royal Army Service Corps battalion of the Wiltshire Regiment with a new service number, 14005098, and began gunnery training at Warminster, Wiltshire, where he met my mother, who was visiting her cousin Olive, who was also stationed at Warminster. Cyril then spent a month on a senior NCO’s training course before being sent to Bally Edmond, Rostrevor, County Down, Ireland as a gunnery instructor. His regular letters to my mother survive for this period, much of which seems to have been spent peeling potatoes and singing in a choir.

Once the war was over, Cyril remained in the army, as a sergeant with the Department of National Service Entertainment, working with ENSA, resuming his civilian trade as a cinema projectionist. He returned to Naples and helped to set up a cinema at Pomigliano. He was stationed at Lammie Camp during the early part of 1946, working as chief projectionist at the Odeon Cinema in Naples. He was formally transferred to the army reserve on 23 August 1946, with effect from 6 November. His reference reads ‘This NCO has proved himself a capable worker and [has] given consistently good service in the Cinema Division. He is a qualified projectionist and is keen hardworking and reliable. An efficient and valued NCO.’

A photograph survives of Cyril’s brother Leonard in uniform but I know nothing about his service. The third brother, Stan, worked on the railways with their father, so he was in a reserved occupation and he served with the Home Guard. My grandfather Albany Braund was also in the Home Guard. He never claimed the medal to which he was entitled. I was able to do so on his behalf after he died.

Top: Albany Braund and his medal. Cyril’s Service Book

Middle: Stan on the left and Leonard on the right

Bottom: Cyril and his medals