Our father was a fascinating man. He travelled the world, living in Egypt, Palestine, Algeria and Morocco but always gravitated back to England.
He wrote passionately for fifty years, twenty of those in a tiny cottage in Sussex surrounded by woods with no road to it, no electricity and running water. By choice, I will add. I can still hear the thump of the typewriter above our bedrooms in the early morning, and remember the groups of people who came to listen to the stories of his travels. They were always magical to us.
He began writing the novel ' The Secrets of the Seven Wardrobes' in this tiny cottage in the heart of Sussex over fifty years ago, and it remained unfinished this entire time. I turn the sepia pages in my hand as I read.
Having worked on this book for the last three years and with a great editor Kim Kimber it was finally released on Amazon. A tale that will take you to the edges of the earth.
PERTHA
Pertha the Giant Sphere of Light was created from a mechanical light system that I've invented and worked on for many years. It is also in the tale of the Seventh Wardrobe. I have brought Pertha into the real world. It will evolve and grow over time and its true nature is yet to be revealed.
Quotes for the book:
She tried to dream dreams that had been used up. She tried to light the wick of yesterday when the wax had gone. She strained to hear the words you are all I have ever desired.
Now as the man talked he produced some wondrous scales. So delicately balanced, so sensitive, that they would tremble at the clearing of the throat. He then set a box on the counter and from it he took many little sacks. Some of these he untied.
“Now, let us see,” he said,”the golden dust of truth,” and he poured a little into one of the scales. And similarly with others, saying, “It is most interesting. This part of my job fascinates me. The red dust of love.
The silver dust of generosity. And see how the dust of a warm heart shimmers. And the white dust of charity, just a little.” And there were others. One side of the scales dipped.
“And now for these melancholy little sacks.The flinty dust of hardness. See it’s colour? Isn’t there something unpleasant about it? I do not even care to put it into my hand. And the green dust of envy. Look at it! Each grain a snake...
