by Emma Carroll
I was thinking the same. In my mind’s eye the Songbird had been a decent-sized vessel, but in reality, it was little more than a fishing rig.
‘There’s plenty of space on board,’ I replied, not wanting him to see I was worried.
*
With the help of Maira and her crew, we tied Blaze to the boat. She had the look of a horse who’d really rather be eating grass. But on the count of three, Susannah clicked her tongue and led her forward, while the rest of us pushed from the back.
It was a bumpy, stop-start sort of journey. A couple of ropes came undone, and when the ground got wetter nearer the sea, we had to tie sacks to Blaze’s feet so she could get proper purchase on the grass. In less than an hour, we hit the shingle of the cove. Another almighty heave, a bit of splashing and snorting from Blaze, and the boat slipped into the water. A huge cheer went up.
‘That’s the girl!’ Susannah cried, clapping Blaze’s sweaty neck with pride.
All too quickly, Maira’s crew climbed on board, readying themselves for the journey ahead. There was a deck to clean, supplies to check, maps to read. And I knew that if I was joining them, now was the time to say my goodbyes.
Mother, who was already brimming with tears, said she’d go on home with Abigail and Blaze. As we parted, she held my face between her hands.
‘Do better than your father did,’ she said. ‘Make sure you come back to us.’
‘I will,’ I promised. ‘I’ll bring home a purse this time, and all.’
Then it was Abigail’s turn.
‘Sorry for not always understanding you and your clothes,’ she said, looking surprisingly contrite.
I shrugged, smiled. Most of what I’d worn these past weeks had belonged to someone else.
‘I mean it, Fortune,’ she said, with force. ‘People have tried to crush you and make you into a person that you’re not. You’ve stayed true to who you want to be, and that takes courage.’
I glanced down at my leggings and boots. If I’d looked at her I’d have started crying.
With just Jem, Susannah and Bea remaining now, we all went down to the water’s edge. Maira was on deck, checking what seemed to be a map as two of the crew unfurled the boat’s mainsail – actually, I noticed now, its only sail.
‘Don’t say a word,’ I muttered to Jem.
From up on deck, Pepper was waving to us. ‘Come up! All of you! Come and have a look!’
Flint and Pepper heaved me on to the boat. Before he could object, they did the same with Jem, despite him muttering that he wasn’t staying.
‘Any room for us?’ Susannah asked.
Within moments, they were on board too. Pepper, taking Bea from Susannah, started showing her the ropes and mast like she was his favourite little sister.
‘She can walk now,’ Susannah told him, ‘though she’ll need to hold your hand.’
Soon little Bea was stomping up and down like she owned the place, though it wasn’t a big deck. Ropes and buckets lay heaped at its edges, and with all of us on board, there was no denying how crowded it was.
‘Well.’ Maira, tipping back her cap, eyed me up and down with a smile. ‘Someone’s looking recovered.’
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my excitement. ‘I am.’
She patted the top of my arm, just once. ‘And the caul?’
‘In my bag with my things.’
‘Good. Keep it safe. Keep us safe.’
‘Where are we headed?’ I asked.
She pointed straight out over the water. ‘There, to start with.’
We’d been so busy this last hour, I’d barely looked up long enough to notice the other vessel moored just outside of the bay. It was huge, easily one hundred feet long, with three masts and a beautiful wooden hull. Already there were crew on board, climbing the rigging, scrubbing the decks, though from this distance they were as small as ants.
‘Goodness!’ I breathed. ‘That’s our ship?’
‘Indeed,’ Maira replied, matter-of-fact. ‘The Pride of Bristol. She’s taking us and a hull full of grain to Jamaica.’
I’d never been to Bristol, let alone this place called Jamaica. Just the name sounded magical, like silver trickling off Maira’s tongue. There was so much I wanted to ask, but I swallowed my questions because Flint was raising our anchor.
‘You’d better go if you’re going,’ I said to Jem, a lump already in my throat.
Yet he was struggling to peel his eyes away from the big ship.
‘You’re welcome to join us, Jem. We’re always in need of trustworthy crew,’ Maira offered.
He glanced at me, at Susannah and at Bea, who was refusing to let go of Pepper’s hand.
‘She wants to stay!’ Susannah laughed.
‘Well, we could, if Maira meant what she said about having work to offer us,’ Jem replied.
Susannah, catching the seriousness of his tone, stopped laughing.
‘Could we?’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘Oh, Maira, could we?’
Maira hesitated. For a moment, I was sure she was going to say no. But I think she saw the strength in Susannah. Here was someone who wasn’t just courageous and clever, but had heart enough to love her baby sister. And, so it seemed, my brother Jem.
‘I must be mad,’ Maira said, laughing, shaking her head. ‘I must be truly mad.’
*
Late afternoon we set sail for Jamaica. ‘The breeze was a gentle southerly, the sea calm, visibility good.’ These were the words Maira read aloud to us from her logbook: to me they sounded like a spell.
As we travelled down the Bristol Channel we passed the little brown-sand beach of Fair Maidens Lane. To think of all the days I’d stood on that shore, wishing for something I couldn’t even name. On the hillside above, a small herd of recently purchased cows were grazing, and further inland someone’s laundry lay spread over bushes to dry in the sun. We watched it all go by and yet it didn’t feel like I was saying farewell to somewhere dear, because I’d finally found where I belonged.
*
Another wonderful thing happened later that day, as we passed the North Devon coast. It was dusk and the sun was melting colours into the sea. To our left, high up on the clifftop a great bonfire blazed. There were bright-patterned tents pitched in a ring around it, and as the breeze blew it carried music and voices out across the water. Drawn to the sounds, we rested our elbows on the side of the ship to listen.
‘It’s a festival, isn’t it?’ Jem asked.
‘Think so,’ I said.
Bea, who’d been dozing on Susannah’s hip, suddenly threw her arms in the air and giggled.
‘What’s she seen?’ Susannah wondered.
‘Something on the shore, look!’ I replied, and we all followed her gaze back to the ring of tents high up on the cliff.
In amongst the browns and greys of people in the crowd were odd spots of red, yellow, green – the costumes, I supposed, of the performers. One in particular caught my eye. A young man, by the looks of him, small and agile, wearing a bold purple and white striped tunic. The crowd were standing back to give him space. And no wonder. He was doing the best somersaults I’d ever witnessed.
‘Can you see him?’ Jem clapped his hands in delight. ‘He’s brilliant!’
‘He is,’ Susannah murmured, a smile spreading across her face. ‘He really is.’
Bea, arms flung wide, kept laughing.
I didn’t take my eyes off the acrobat. Even this far away, I knew in my bones that it was Ellis.
Quicker than any of us would’ve liked, we left the festival behind. I fell quiet and thoughtful, then, staring out over the molten-red water as the sun sank lower in the sky. Back at home, Mother and Abigail would be shutting up the chickens and bringing in the laundry. Or maybe my sister had wrapped up a slice of leftover pie and taken it round to Tom Fitzpatrick.
Times were changing. Life was changing.
Yet, it was us that were different now, not the sea. It was as it always was – cold, salty-sharp, tin
gling with possibilities. It didn’t hate or judge or hunt down what it was scared of.
It simply was.
We’d travelled so far these past months, and another journey was just beginning. The stars were in the evening sky. Our ship sailed onwards.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
At approximately 9 a.m. on the morning of 29th January 1607, a catastrophic flood hit the coastline of Devon, Somerset, Gloucestershire and South Wales. Over two thousand people drowned: homes were lost, livestock swept away, the entire village of Brean in Somerset destroyed. Over two hundred square miles of land lay underwater. The sea travelled as far inland as Glastonbury Tor, some fourteen miles from the coast. At Kingston Seymour, near Bristol, the village church bears a mark which shows the flood reached twenty-five feet at its height.
Eyewitness accounts from the time describe the sea moving ‘faster than a greyhound could run’, of ‘mighty hilles of water’ and ‘some fog or mist coming in with great swiftness’. It was these accounts, and the research they inspired, that formed the argument put forward in 2002 of the flood being a tsunami. Professor Simon Haslett of Bath Spa University and Australian geologist Ted Bryant of the University of Wollongong found evidence of soil types, coastal erosion and boulder deposits all suggesting the water had travelled very quickly and with great force. Their research is the subject of a fascinating Timewatch documentary ‘The Killer Wave’ in 2005, which can still be viewed on YouTube.
For the benefit of my story, I have woven the tsunami theory alongside other seventeenth century narratives, namely those of superstition and witchcraft. The climate at this time was experiencing a cooling period known as the ‘Little Ice Age’, which meant extreme weather events – storms, droughts, cold winters, floods – were more frequent. It wasn’t uncommon for such events to be seen as punishment from God, and that something – or someone – was to blame.
In 1604, harming another person by ‘magic’ became a crime punishable by death. Although witch-hunts in the UK weren’t as widespread as in Europe, there were numerous accounts of witch trials in Somerset in the early 1600s. I found no evidence that King James I or the Essex-based witchfinder Matthew Hopkins visited Somerset during this time – that’s my invention. Yet both men’s views had a huge impact on how women – particularly the old, the sick, the slightly odd – were perceived during the seventeenth century and beyond. So I’ve included them in my story: perhaps I’ve put them on trial. That’s for you, the reader, to decide.
Q & A WITH EMMA CARROLL
You are so good at making readers feel like they are experiencing first-hand the period of history that you are writing about. What inspired this setting and how did you go about creating the backdrop to the events of this book?
Somerset is my home, I was born and raised here, so I get a lot of my inspiration from the landscape and local history. The places affected by the 1607 flood are all known to me. What I also needed was a personal narrative to run alongside that of the flood, and when I delved into the Jacobean era, fears of witchcraft and the growing trade in sugar were two things that leaped out at me. So I decided to weave these in to Fortune’s story.
Fortune is hired to tend to Ellis to make him more ‘manly’; women thriving by themselves are seen to be a nuisance and in need of a man to take charge; and if women are right about their intuition, they are quickly accused of being a witch. Did you consciously set out to challenge gender stereotypes when writing this book?
I hope all my stories explore gender in some way. We live in a world where, even now, gender roles are constantly challenged – in the workplace, in the media, by politicians. I’m all for people and personalities rather than narrowing things down to boy/girl characters. The early seventeenth century is particularly vivid and violent example of what happens when gender roles are enforced to the extreme.
What are the main messages you would like readers to take from this story?
That we’re all individuals with our own quirks and characters, and should embrace our differences, not try to hide or change them.
What did you edit out of this book and why?
Originally, the story started at the trial. There was another Sharpe sister called Eleanor who was rather duplicitous. She over-complicated the plot so had to go!
Can you talk us through the transformation of Fortune throughout the story, her character development and growth?
We first meet Fortune as a noisy, reckless girl who thinks of life as one big adventure. When events at home take a sinister turn, she’s forced to grow up fast and make her own way in the world. Despite feeling overwhelmed and constantly out of place, she finds friendship and courage where she least expects it, and learns that appearances can be deceptive.
How important are your characters’ names? How do you go about creating them?
Naming characters is one of my favourite parts to writing a story. For ideas, I’ll look up birth registers for the year characters would’ve been born, so their names feel appropriate to the era. Sometimes a name will just land in my head, sometimes it’ll come from research. Fortune, Susannah and Ellis are all early seventeenth century names. Occasionally, I’ll be inspired by a real name: Dr Blood is named after my own childhood dentist, who was brilliant – and female – so nothing at all like the character in this book!
Family and relationships are often a focus in your stories. Do you ever see yourself or your family in any of your characters? And if you had to pick one character that is most like you from your books, who it would be and why?
Family and friends are hugely significant in my life, so yes, there are lots of echoes of my own experiences in the stories I write. Many of the names I use come from relatives – Tilly, Louie, Will, Cliff, Ephraim, are all named after my grandparents and great-grandparents. The character who is most like me is probably Tilly in Frost Hollow Hall!
Your books always have such a distinctive and authentic aesthetic about them. What do you feel that the cover artwork brings to your books?
Faber hit on an absolute super-talent when they asked Julian De Narvaez to illustrate my covers. His artwork so cleverly mixes the eerie with the nostalgic, so you feel as if you’re about to read something old-fashioned, yet not quite traditional, which is exactly how I try to approach writing historical fiction. Julian’s art, coupled with Faber’s designers, makes those covers really arresting. They don’t look like other book covers, somehow. As far as I know I’m the only UK author Julian does cover art for – and I love that!
If you could have lived through any period of history, which would it be and why?
I think the Victorian era would be fascinating, with so many new inventions and ideas whizzing about. Also the end of the eighteenth century because revolution was in the air.
Which books have been most influential to you throughout your writing career?
I grew up on a diet of pony books, ghost stories and the Moomins. As an adult, I became hooked on historical fiction in my twenties after reading Fingersmith by Sarah Waters. I’m also a huge Daphne Du Maurier fan. Both these writers have a very strong sense of place in their writing, and an undercurrent of something unsettling going on, which I love.
What does a day in the life of Emma Carroll look like when you’re writing?
I’ve recently discovered I write better later in the day, which isn’t just an excuse for a lie-in, honest! A writing day for me consists of getting up, walking my dogs, doing a couple of hours writing at my desk, then lunch, then writing downstairs on the sofa, surrounded by dogs. I tend to find the first 30k of an early draft the hardest part. My favourite part of the process is editing, because this is when the story thickens up and I can weave in the layers.
As a former teacher yourself, what advice would you give to teachers about how to develop reading for pleasure – especially historical fiction – in their schools?
Make sure your school has a skilled librarian and a proper library. Model reading to your pupils: the best reading practice I’ve
seen is where the teachers are massively enthusiastic about kids’ books, both old and new. Approach historical fiction story first. This is how I do it as a writer. The adventure, the characters, always come first. The history part of things is world-building, just as it would be in a fantasy novel.
What advice would you give to any budding young authors?
Read, read, read. All writers are passionate readers. It’s where a lot of inspiration comes from, and where we learn how to craft a story. Also, getting it right takes time. Be patient and let your story grow.
THINGS TO TALK ABOUT
* Old Margaret is taken away and accused of witchcraft. Do you believe that witchcraft existed?
* The hamlet of Fair Maidens Lane put a man in charge, due to men saying that the women couldn’t thrive by themselves. Think about women who are in powerful positions in the world today. What skills do they have?
* Fortune’s mother encouraged her to pretend she was a boy so she could get a job more easily. Does the power of the world today still lie in the hands of men or are things more balanced?
* Do you think there are certain circumstances where it is acceptable for children to work or should they be in school?
* Fortune is employed by Mr Spicer at the hiring fair in order to make his son ‘more manly’. What do you think he meant by this?
* In the story, certain activities are considered suitable only for boys or girls. What do you think about this?
* Mr Spicer tries to hide his youngest daughter Bea away after his wife died in childbirth. Why do you think he did this?
* There is a big gap between the rich and the poor in this book. Do you think that only the rich people should be the ones making the decisions with the power in life just because they have lots of money?
* Fortune says: ‘But doesn’t everyone have a bit of strangeness in them?’ Is this true? If so, what is your bit of strangeness?
* There is a popular saying that ‘knowledge is power’. What does this mean? Why do you think some people afraid of knowledge?