Take a Step Back in Time by Victoria Chatham

This month's question is: If the time machine were invented today, when would you want to visit and why? I had to think about this quite a bit because, although I write Regency romance, I would love to spend some time in the Edwardian era if I could spend that time as an upper-class lady. Take a look at How to Dress an Edwardian Lady here. If I had nothing else to do, I can just imagine taking the greatest pleasure in dressing up. But, just to give you a bit of a background, here is how the two eras came to be. 

Like the Regency, the Edwardian era was technically a relatively short period, the former spanning the years from 1811 to 1820, the latter the years 1901 to 1910, each being allied to the monarch of the time.

In 1811 King George III was considered unfit to rule and his son the Prince of Wales, became the Prince Regent. When his father died in 1820, he ascended the throne and ruled as George IV, followed by William IV and then Queen Victoria. On her death in 1901, her son Edward came to the throne as Edward VII until his death in 1910. The eras, however, tended to evolve and end a few years before and after the actual reigns of the monarchs who lent them their names so, for many, the Edwardian era was not considered at an end until the start of World War 1.

Television shows like Upstairs Downstairs and Downton Abbey solidified my interest in the clothes of the Edwardian era. Series like The Edwardian Country House and movies like Somewhere in Time starring the late Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour, showed off the ladies’ costumes beautifully, especially their hats. The era of La Belle Epoque highlighted the balance, poise, and elegance of the super-rich who could afford to live the luxurious high life. The fabrics and styles leant themselves to the use of silks and satin for soft, feminine fashions with flowing skirts, ruffles and lots of lace. Fake fruit, fur, and feathers often decorated the wide-brimmed picture, or Merry Widow, hats held in place by a long hat-pin and it’s those hats that I envy the most. Take a look at the image on the cover of Envy the Wind and you will see what I mean. How pretty and feminine is this.

AVAILABLE HERE

For more about Anita Davison go here.

For more about Victoria Chatham go here.

I Remember When by Victoria Chatham

For more information GO HERE

I Remember When. . . oh, my. Where do I start? So many memories from my childhood, from any of the many moves we made from one army barracks to another. New homes, new places, new people. Looking back, my life has been a constant flow of change.

But now I live in Canada, and it's this great country's 150th birthday this year. To celebrate that, I decided to pull a memory from my early days in Alberta. There was much here that impressed me, but one of the sights that eluded me was the Northern Lights, about which I heard so much.

They danced all night. If you listen hard, you could hear them. Their colours were so pretty. You would never forget them. It was difficult to believe all I was told. Old timers said they were the result of, or harbingers for, changes in the weather.

I didn't care. I just hadn't seen them. Time went on and the Northern Lights, the Aurora Borealis of legend, remained just that. Living in Calgary, with all the ambient night light, was a pretty sure indicator that I was unlikely to see them in the heart of this great city. However, a late September trip to Fort St. James in British Columbia, changed all that.

We stayed with my late husband's cousin and his family, enjoying their hospitality which extended from their log home into a magnificent back yard backed by a forest of dense fir and spruce trees. The first night there we had a barbecue on the biggest fire-pit I'd ever seen. I am sure it was big enough to have accommodated a whole cow.   I was still at the stage of getting used to the size of everything in Canada.

We ate, drank, talked and, as we did, the afternoon morphed into the evening and before I even knew it, the night was upon us. It may have been the wine I'd been imbibing but the midnight blue sky seemed a deeper, richer colour. I was sure if I could reach out and touch it, it would be as soft and luxuriant as the most expensive cotton velvet. I had never seen so many stars but was able to pick out many including my star sign, the constellation of Virgo, the brightest of which is Spica, often used in navigation.

My husband's cousin pointed out satellites and meteors and talked knowledgeably on the airlines that had routes over that part of the province. Conversation slowed, the fire burned down to a nest of glowing embers, and suddenly bed seemed like a good idea. About to haul myself out of my comfy chair, I happened to look up and could not believe my eyes.

The night had changed from that of celestial slumber to a screen as bright as day. Colours of the rainbow danced their way up and down the sky, shimmering shades of pink and violet, then slashes of

yellow and green. The sky shifted and whirled like a kaleidoscope around me and, instead of being simply being a watcher, I was lifted on that brightly stained tide of motion and became part and parcel of it.

Unaware of the amusement my awe and delight had engendered in the family, I continued to babble goodness-knows-what at shifting shadows around me. A hand on my shoulder urged me to sit forward and pillows miraculously cushioned my back. Someone pulled a toque onto my head and ordered me to put on the mitts plonked in my lap. While I wiggled my fingers into their furry embrace, someone else appeared with a down comforter that was wrapped snuggly around my legs. My husband appeared with an armful of logs and carefully built up the fire. The final touch was a carafe of hot chocolate and a plate of chocolate cookies. After that everyone went to bed and I was on my own with the wonderful palette and panoply that surrounded me.

I have no idea how long I remained awake, watching the constant motion above me, the slip and slide of one colour and pattern into the long glissade of another, as smooth a movement as a skater gliding across a sheet of ice. At some point, I fell into a deep sleep worn out, no doubt, by this new and almost unbelievable experience.

When I finally awoke, thinking that I had had a marvelous psychedelic dream, it slowly came to me that what I had experienced was not a dream. I still had on the toque and mitts. The comforter was still snug around my legs. Someone had stoked the fire flames licked greedily up the new logs. A carafe of hot coffee replaced that of the chocolate and in place of the cookies was a plate of bacon, eggs, and beans.

The welcome my husband's family had shown us was beyond anything I had ever expected but the sheer joy of that Canadian night will never be forgotten.  

Finding History in Canada

Victoria Chatham just posted today on our sister blog, Inside Books We Love, sharing some of the discoveries she's made as she delved into the historical subjects she started researching for her books, as well as just for the love of history.

FINDING HISTORY IN CANADA

In school, history was never my favorite subject. I couldn’t remember dates.1066 and 1492 are ingrained in me, but don’t ask me about the succession of kings or when the Industrial or French Revolutions began.

It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties that I read Jean Plaidy’s The Sun in Splendour. What a difference that made. I could see the characters in history, the people behind the words on the page. I scrambled to read all I could, both fact and fiction, about the Plantagenets, the Tudors and the War of the Roses. My history teacher would have been proud of me.

Today I write historical romance set in my favorite eras, the Regency and the Edwardian, but I still read historical novels from any period. History comes alive for me between the covers of a good book but I do understand that it is subjective.

What happened yesterday, a minute or an hour ago becomes history and we all have our own. My history is growing up in Clifton, a suburb of Bristol, England. Today it’s known not only for its Regency era architecture but also the palatial homes built by the merchant venturers of Bristol, a society of businessmen formed in 1552.

When I immigrated to Canada in 1990, I frequently had people tell me ‘you won’t like it here, we’re not old enough’, or ‘Canada has no history’.

I will admit my ignorance at that time. After all, what did I know about Canada other than it’s a very big country, the Mounties always get their man (or woman) and it’s cold in winter. After nearly twenty-five years I am happy to beg to differ with those early and misleading statements.

CLICK HERE to read the rest of her post ...

Interview with Victoria Chatham

Bet you thought I had forgotten to interview Victoria Chatham.  But you were wrong ... here she is!

Tell us a little about yourself? Perhaps something not many people know?

I had a varied education due to being an army brat and finished my English schooling with passes in five subjects, the exams being similar to the North American graduation system. I couldn’t wait to leave school and work with horses, but back then it wasn’t legal to leave home until the age of eighteen, so for two years I slogged it out first in a bank, then in a local factory’s wage payment office. Horses are my life-long passion, from my first ride on a beach pony when I was five, to the palomino quarter horse I rode on my last trail ride this summer. I loved the discipline of side-saddle and dressage, enjoyed riding cross-country but show jumping was never really my favorite thing to do. However, I do enjoy volunteering at Spruce Meadows, a world-class show jumping venue just south of Calgary, Alberta.

When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

When I was at school. I loved my English classes, both Literature and Grammar. I wrote several prize-winning essays but my attempts at writing fiction, while I enjoyed writing stories, was a source of amusement to my family. Writing was always referred to as my ‘little hobby’ and I did not have the confidence to try again until I was in my fifties. So, if there are any late bloomers reading this, take heart. It is never too late. Find yourself a good writing group and get to know other writers. Only writers understand writers so it’s important to get that support.

What is your work schedule like when you're writing?

Manic. I would love to have a process! When I wrote His Dark Enchantress I was very disciplined. 9am-1pm or 10am-2pm every day except weekends. I’d sometimes go back to it in the evening and revise what I’d written in the morning, but not very often. His Ocean Vixen was written scene by scene whenever I felt like it and quilted together. Loving That Cowboy was again a scene by scene quilting effort. Brides of Banff Springs was somewhat more orderly. First I did my research, again usually four hour stretches of reading and making notes. Then, because I was so spoilt for choice with the material I had, I discarded several chapters because the flow was not there and the story felt so contrived. Then it was back to what material did I have and where did I want it to come in the story? Most days when I’m working on a book I try for those four hour periods, but then when the writing starts to come together I will write as much as I can.

Do your characters seem to hijack the story or do you feel like you have the reins of the story?

This is such a pertinent question for me! My characters tend to take over and sometimes I have to put them in their place. The most intrusive character of all was Lady Juliana Clifton in my first Regency romance, His Dark Enchantress. She was the hero’s sister and every time I started to bring in his love interest, Emmeline Devereux, Juliana would butt in. Finally I promised her a book of her own (she has the lead role in His Ocean Vixen). She is such a tenacious character that she is also mentioned in my Edwardian trilogy as she is the great-great-grandmother of my heroine in that series, Lady Serena Buxton. I don’t think she’s likely to surface again, but I who knows?

   

What do you like to do when you're not writing?

Oh, gosh. Take my pick why don’t I! Reading, of course. I don’t think anyone can be a writer without first being a reader. I love movies and go every other week to the cinema and also watch movies on Netflix. I’ll watch anything except horror movies as I don’t like being scared but if I’m honest I love animated movies the most. My all time favorite is Disney’s Robin Hood with The Jungle Book being a close second. When I get out of the house, I hike, trail ride and camp in summer and snowshoe in winter. I love meeting up with friends and just chatting. I’m now retired but quite honestly, with all I do, I don’t know how I ever had time to work at a full time job.

What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books?

That it takes a village to write a book! Honestly, by the time you’ve done your research and possibly had some brain storming sessions, you really do have a team to work with. It took me a long time to open up to the idea of working with critique partners, but now I have two who I trust implicitly. Wherever they pick me up, I know I have to look at it carefully. It might be Point of View (mine can still sometimes go awry), or an undeveloped plot point, or a grammatical issue. I also have two very good beta readers who will point out any weaknesses.

Well there you have it folks - the wonderful Victoria Chatham.  I wonder if I could convince her to start singing "Robin Hood and Little John, walking through the forest ..." with me. I LOVE that movie!   Although, Fantasia will always hold a special place at number one for me.

Anyone has any questions for our Vicki?

Excerpt from the Brides of Banff Springs

BRIDES OF BANFF SPRINGS

Victoria Chatham

Monday, May 27th, 1935. It should be spring yet snow still dusted the mountain framed in the railway station’s open doorway. The pine-scented breeze wafted across the woman’s cheek and tugged a curl of hair from beneath her hat. Going through that doorway meant stepping into a new life. The possibilities intrigued and frightened her in equal measure.

She hesitated, dragging her feet a little as she exited the railway station. Now she was here, all the excitement and pride of being accepted for a position at the Banff Springs Hotel evaporated. Despite the late May sunshine, chills rippled through her. Why had she allowed herself to be persuaded to leave? Couldn’t she have found work in Medicine Hat or Calgary? There were hotels in both cities. But no, here she was, stranded miles from anywhere, still able to hear the fading rattle and clack of wheels on the rails as the train sped on to its next stop.

All she knew, all she had ever known, lay in a quarter section of farmland in southeastern Alberta, one hundred and sixty acres in sight of the Cypress Hills. Now the farm, seared by years of drought and the ensuing debt from one crop failure after another was, like her parents, gone, leaving her to provide for herself as best she could.

Her vision blurred momentarily. In the recesses of her mind she heard her mother's disapproving admonishments and her father’s slightly softer, “Now, now, Tilly, tears don’t solve problems.” She blinked quickly to dispel them and squared her shoulders.

That’s enough of that Matilda Margaret McCormack, she admonished herself.

There was nobody come to meet or greet her, nor had she expected there to be, but that fact brought a sudden lump to her throat. The weight of being alone in a strange place bore her down. She swallowed hard and took a couple of deep breaths to reorient herself.

The chug of a motor followed by the blare of its horn drew her over the doorstep and onto the boardwalk. She was too late. Her hesitation had cost her a seat on the last automobile that might have taken her to the hotel. It chugged out of the station yard, its horn blaring and she watched with dismay as it gathered speed and disappeared from view.

The hopeful butterflies that had assailed her stomach when she got on the train in Medicine Hat were now jangling nerves. How could she have ever thought making this move was a good idea? If someone walked up to her right now and gave her a ticket, she would leave on the next train and go home.

Except there is no home, she reminded herself. There is no family, nor anyone who would be happy to see her again.

She stood on the boardwalk and stifled the sigh that built up in her. Well, she was here now and would just have to make the most of it.  The only form of transport that remained in the yard was a wagon being loaded by a young man. The ease with which he lifted and stowed boxes and trunks in its bed indicated a muscular frame beneath his open-necked shirt. From the style of his hat and his worn, dusty boots, Tilly thought he might be a cowboy. He was no stranger to manual labor that was for sure. As if he felt her gaze on him, he looked over his shoulder and flashed a grin.

“Are you going to the Banff Springs Hotel?” he called.

Tilly walked towards him. “Yes. Do you know how far it is?”

“It’s about a twenty minute ride but far enough that it would be a good walk. I'm headed there myself and can take you if you like.” He heaved a trunk into the back of the wagon then turned to her, holding out his hand. “The name's Ryan, Ryan Blake.”

She liked his friendly grin and twinkling brown eyes and took his hand in her own. He had a warm, firm grip. “Tilly McCormack, and thank you. A ride would be much appreciated.”

“Hop up then.” Ryan indicated the driver's seat. “I've only a few more boxes to load. Is this your first time in Banff?”

“First time anywhere.” Tilly tossed her suitcase into the wagon and clambered up by way of the wheel.

Ryan, having finished stowing the last trunk, climbed up beside her. “Where have you come from?”

“Medicine Hat.” Tilly tilted her head a little so that she could see Ryan from the corner of her eye. The brim of his hat shaded the upper part of his face, but she could see the wedge of auburn sideburn inching down his cheek and sprouting into day-old fuzz across the line of his jaw.

“I hear it’s been a tough time for ranchers and farmers around the Hat and across the prairies.”

“Very tough,” Tilly lapsed into silence as Ryan picked up the reins and slapped them on the rump of the patient old bay horse in the traces. Small puffs of dust rose up from the horse's hide in protest at this treatment.

Ryan guided the horse out of the station yard, yet Tilly sensed the animal knew its job well enough as it trotted along the route the automobile had taken. She glanced over her shoulder at the load of expensive looking trunks and valises in the wagon bed. Luggage labels declared they had visited London, Paris, Rio de Janeiro, Cairo, and Bombay. Places she had read about but could barely comprehend. Her own battered grip, a relic of her father's World War 1 service, fared poorly in comparison but she imagined it had its own stories to tell despite not bearing labels advertising its journeys.

Available for pre-order  Will be released December 31st

Brides of Banff Springs

The first book in the Canadian Historical Brides series, the Brides of Banff Springs, is available for pre-order at Amazon.

In the Dirty Thirties jobs were hard to come by. Having lost her father and her home in southern Alberta, Tilly McCormack is thrilled when her application for a position as a chambermaid at the prestigious Banff Springs Hotel, one of Canada’s great railway hotels, is accepted. 

Tilly loves her new life in the Rocky Mountain town and the people she meets there. Local trail guide Ryan Blake, is taken with Tilly’s sparkling blue eyes and mischievous sense of humor, and thinks she is just the girl for him. Ryan’s work with a guiding and outfitting company keeps him busy but he makes time for Tilly at every opportunity and he’s already decided to make her his bride. 

On the night he plans to propose to Tilly another bride-to-be, whose wedding is being held at the Hotel, disappears. Tilly has an idea where she might have gone and together with Ryan sets out to search for her. 

Will they find the missing bride and will Tilly accept Ryan’s proposal?