Tuesday 30 April 2013

The advance copy of Australian Eagles has arrived. Have a sneak preview now!

The advance copy of Australian Eagles has arrived. It looks absolutely beautiful.


Apologies for the dodgy camerawork but you can get an idea of the quality of the production from these photos.

 
 







 
I am absolutely thrilled with it.

More than two fifths of the limited edition has been reserved and that is before Australian Eagles has even hit the bookshops!

Don't forget: you can have a sneak preview of one of the chapters. Just go to http://www.barrallierbooks.com/site/sites/default/files/Australian%20Eagles%20Sample%20Chapter.pdf and you can download the front matter and Dick Glyde’s story.

$A39.95. Order now at http://www.alexanderfaxbooks.com.au/available-now-australian-eagles-australians-battle-britain

 

Kristen’s Echat With... Justin Sheedy


The book world is changing. Print books are challenged by ebooks; traditional publishing houses are threatened by self publishers and niche publishers. Even the way readers think about books is changing: is a book something to treasure; is it disposable; is it something to read on a smart phone, ipad, ereader, or something to listen to on the ithingy. Writers, of course, face the greatest challenge, that of finding a readership when traditional publishers are becoming more choosy about what they print, and ebook lists are flooded by thousands of new titles every day. And, assuming they have found a readership, writers can’t just close the attic door and get on with their writing. They have to market themselves continuously. They have to be available for interviews and signings—or book tours if they have cracked the big time—constantly twitter, blog and facebook. How on earth do they succeed in a rapidly changing world where social media is king?


 

As I anxiously await the results of my agent’s attempts to pitch my next opus to a traditional publishing house, I watch, fascinated, as one writer successfully navigates through this strange new world. Justin Sheedy started his self publishing career with Goodbye Crackernight, a memoir of growing up in 1970s Australia. He followed this with Nor the Years Condemn, a fictional tribute to the boys of the Empire Air Training Scheme who flew Spitfires and Typhoons against the Luftwaffe. He is currently poised to release Ghosts of the Empire, which focuses on one of the characters from Nor the Years Condemn. I wondered, how does Justin do it? I thought, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? And so I did. In the week he prepared for an in-store appearance at Dymocks Chatswood and an interview on a local radio station, Justin kindly answered a whole raft of questions about his life and writing experience. 
 
 


 

First off, I asked Justin how he overcomes the challenges of self publishing, the limited distribution networks, the miniscule publicity budgets. The secret of his growing success, Justin told me, is ‘employing the three Golden Rules of Writing and Publishing. 1. Persistence. 2. Persistence. 3. Persistence.’ And Justin works hard at being persistent. He almost daily posts on his facebook pages, he puts in personal appearances at bookshops, chats with radio interviewers, produces a blog to publicise his books, and attended the 2010 Byron Bay Writers Festival. All this, even as he holds down a day job and works on his next book.

 

I am always intrigued about the person behind the book. Cover blurbs hardly ever tell you much about the author, so being happily married myself and a potty pet lover, I like to know that others are in a similar state. And if they are, how they manage to balance their home and writing lives. (OK, I’ll admit it, I’m just trumping up the fact that I am a sticky beak, but I bet you’re interested too!) Justin currently has no conflicts between ties at writing. ‘I am bound to meet my significant other any day now. I see her all the time. But I have yet to meet her.’
Still stickybeaking, I then asked for a potted version of Justin’s life and passions. ‘I grew up in the suburbs of 1970s Australia, back when a child’s proudest possession was not a PlayStation but a second-hand bike’, he reminisced, and my mind instantly turned to my own childhood of the 60s and 70s when I was desperate for a bike so I could range around the neighbourhood (not that we used that term then. Somehow, that was too American). How well I remember those wonderful, carefree days. But hang on. This is not about me. It’s about Justin, who ‘wrote all about this amazing childhood in my first book, Goodbye Crackernight’.

 

Childhood behind him, what does Justin do to earn a crust? ‘My first job out of school was as a go-go dancer in a 60s psychedelic night-club, I studied Fine Arts at Sydney Uni (qualifying myself to drive a cab), sang in bands, and worked in the Australian Public Service for a time though made a full recovery.’ I am glad to see that the service (or ‘the circus’ as we fellow escapees not so fondly refer to it) did not knock out Justin’s creativity and sense of humour. They (you know, the ubiquitous ‘they’) always tell you to make the most of your life experiences, and Justin certainly did. He worked for the Department of Veterans’ Affairs, ‘where I was privileged to speak to many WWII aircrew veterans, brilliant research for my latest book, Nor the Years Condemn’. Now, Justin works for ‘a not-for-profit organisation who are really supportive of my writing and writing commitments such as radio interviews to promote my in-store events, writers’ festivals etc.’

 

As part of my research for this first Echat With..., I listened in on one of his interviews thanks to the wonders of internet streaming. It was held at 11.30 on a work day, and as well as promoting the aforementioned Nor the Years Condemn, it heralded the Dymocks signing session. Justin has obviously had lots of radio experience. He deftly fielded the announcer’s questions and told just enough about his book to whet appetites and have the local listeners bounding into the bookshop that weekend. His enthusiasm for his subject shone through; his passion was clear. And on the subject of passions, writing, of course, is one of Justin’s but only one. ‘My passions are women, military history, cooking, women, mountains, fogs and snow, also skiing so am counting on becoming a best-selling author so I can earn enough cash to keep doing it. Please help.’ Love that sense of humour!

 

Just for a laugh (and to see if our tastes coincided in any way) I said to Justin: You have a gift voucher for the world’s biggest DVD shop. It stocks every film, TV series, doco, one off special ever made. What five all time greats would you spend your voucher on. With barely a blink, Justin proved something I have long believed, that maths is not a strong point of the creative types: ‘First Light, the story of Geoff Wellum, youngest allied pilot of the Battle of Britain, and possibly the best docu-drama I have ever seen, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Spy Who Came In From the Cold, the House of Cards series, the Sherlock Holmes series with Jeremy Brett, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Oh, and The Italian Job with Michael Caine. Sorry, that’s six, no, seven. Doh!’ Interestingly, all bar the classic caper film are based on books. Just proves that Justin is a reader from way back, and so, naturally, I asked who or what was the greatest influence on his reading life. ‘Many’, he told me, ‘but a key three would be Tolkien, for his mastery of the “journey story”. Michael Herr (Dispatches), for his capture of the perverse “sensuality” of war, and Bill Bryson for his hilarious, warm and wonderful humanity’.

 

Influence aside, Justin has any number of favourite books, too many really to designate just one as his ultimate, all time favourite ‘but in the context of my latest work, Going Solo by Roald Dahl for the way he portrays the adult world (in WWII) with the involuntary unrestrained perfection of a child’s eye. In the context of my first book, Unreliable Memoirs by Clive James which a senior English teacher friend of mine recently maintained as “one of the funniest books ever written”’. Going Solo was a must read for me when researching Clive Caldwell’s experiences in the desert. I have not read any Clive James yet but with such a good (double) recommendation, I will have to add Unreliable Memoirs to the pile next to my bed. And on the subject of books on the bedside table, it seems as if Justin rarely takes a break from his research. Currently piled up for his late night reading, are The Gestapo Hunters. 464 Squadron RAAF by Mark Lax and Leon Kane Maguire, Mosquito—The Original Multi-Role Combat Aircraft by G.M. Simons, The Mosquito Log by Alexander McKee, and Mosquito Mayhem by M.W. Bowman. And with that, we turned from the personal to the creative, and Justin’s personal book philosophy.

Justin believes ‘that a book must make me read it. It should never be a struggle but a constant reward. In precisely this spirit, I try to make anything I write constantly reward the reader for buying my book. One of the nicest things I’ve been told by readers about my latest book Nor the Years Condemn is that they feel IN the history I’m writing about, that the characters become “friends” to them, even that they “become” the characters. And to my blessed relief and delight I’ve been told this a few times now’.

 

I always wonder how writers start off. Was there a spark that made them pick up the pen, or was their desire to write as innate as breathing. For Justin, it was ‘When I met an Australian Korean War RAAF veteran who flew Mustangs there in low ground attack. Despite all the death and destruction he meted out and narrowly survived, including the loss of dear mates, he looked at me square in the eye and said, “Justin, it was the best time of my life.” And I knew that I had to write and hopefully capture that monumental human irony.’

 

There is usually a long journey from spark to first published piece, and many hours hunched over a desk writing or typing, scrawling notes on scrubby bits of paper or in a writer’s journal if you are really organised, or even wandering around, just thinking. Given I try to write in a cluttered office where my creative life is constantly in conflict with the demands of my ‘real’ life, what, I wondered, is Justin’s special writing place: ‘The floor of my flat in Glebe’ but he would forsake that spot in a flash: ‘If I won the lottery I would move it to on the water at Kirribilli’.

 

That floor in Glebe has seen the creation of two works now, and another that is still in the works. Goodbye Crackernight, the first, was Justin’s ‘personal portrait of growing up in 1970s Australia (when it was still the 1950s!). The story is full of laughter, tears, simplicity, in a way a “shared” memoir for a few generations of Australians, a “mirror” to them. It traces the demise of Crackernight in parallel with the passing of our youth, showing how, just as we were growing up, so was Australia, and turning from a “white-bread” world into the multi-cultural Oz we know and love today’.

 

Justin was inspired to write his latest release, Nor the Years Condemn ‘to bring to life a truly great Australian story which is so exciting, so heroic and tragic, in a word so dramatic as to seem the stuff of science fiction and yet it is true: The story of the young Australians who flew Spitfires and Typhoons as part of the Empire Air Training Scheme, WWII. The true facts on which my story is intensively based really are the stuff of Star Wars, the attack on the Death Star. I wanted to bring this largely untold chapter of our history alive for Australians and in doing so make them even prouder of who we are. I wanted to tell the story of how the best and brightest of an Australian generation ironically picked one of the fastest ways to die of WWII and yet did so much to win it. The loss of any young person in war is a tragedy, yet these young Aussies were the shining stars of their era, which (given the true history on which it’s based) can’t help but render my story a heart-rending read, and the anti-war portrait that it is intended to be.’

 

As you would expect, Justin put in the hard research yards. It took ten years to research Nor the Years Condemn. Happily, he had some indispensible book resources: ‘Typhoon and Tempest at War by Roland Beamont (Typhoon pilot) and Arthur Reed, and Chased by the Sun by Hank Nelson.’ His ‘main research resource’, however, ‘was the internet, and the access it gave me to the amazing range of WWII historical experts and institutions who so selflessly aided me. (It’s a massive list, included at the end of Nor the Years Condemn.)’

 

Justin’s trawling of the sources has paid off. He has a feel for the cut and thrust of battle and an affinity with military aviation. Why then, did he decide to write a fictional account of young airmen’s lives, rather than history? For Justin, fiction was the best way ‘to bring alive the stunning true history on which my book is based by engaging readers in a way that only the descriptive powers of Fiction can allow, and thereby have readers feel the loss of such young Australians as vividly as it deserves to be felt. Also, it’s only via Fiction that a reader can be put ‘in the cockpit’, not just reading “about” the history, but entering “into” it.’

 

One thing I have discovered is that other writers are usually all too happy to help others. I have enjoyed assistance from seasoned writers as well as on-going chats with new authors, all the while gaining much from their different experiences. Justin was recently asked to be a mentor to a budding writer and I asked him about the sort of advice he would pass on. (I will confess to a lot of self interest here, over and above the sheer altruism of sharing Justin’s words of wisdom). ‘Find a subject you are passionate about’, advised Justin. ‘Readers will want to buy your book because of your passion’. Next, he encourages, ‘write the book. Then re-write it ten times, after which your book may just turn out to be the book it should be. Then when it is, LOVE talking about it to people in radio interviews and at your in-store book-signing events. I do.’ Such sound advice. Justin also willingly shares the most important advice he has ever received: ‘No askie, no gettie.’

 

Once they have enjoyed one book (or two!), readers want to know what else the author is working on. I am no different. Happily, Justin is currently in the latter stages of a sequel to Nor the Years Condemn, entitled Ghosts of the Empire. Its ‘hopeful’ due date is towards the end of August 2013. Just over two months away, so not much time left to wait now! ‘This is the ‘parallel journey-story of one character from NTYC who flies the awesome “Wooden Wonder”, the de Havilland Mosquito against Nazi tyranny. One key theme of Ghosts of the Empire is, if all those young aircrew who flew Lancasters had been flying Mosquitos instead, they’d have most likely died of old age.’ There is no cover image yet but click here for a sneak preview of Ghosts of the Empire http://crackernight.com/2011/06/01/opening-of-sequel-to-nor-the-years-condemn-currently-waiting-on-3-prospective-publishers/

 

Like any author worth his salt, Justin is already thinking about what will come next. There is a sequel to Goodbye Crackernight in the pipeline with the working title Memoirs of a Go-Go Dancer and he is contemplating ‘something on the truth behind the motives for the Amiens Prison bombing raid of 1944.’ This is very much in the preliminary stages and, as such, he is open to ‘Any suggestions?’

 

Well, I think that is enough of picking Justin’s brains. For more details of his writing life and practice, hop onto his blog http://crackernight.com/blog/. You can befriend him at http://www.facebook.com/justin.sheedy, ‘like’ http://www.facebook.com/pages/Nor-the-Years-Condemn and http://www.facebook.com/GoodbyeCrackernight, or follow him on Twitter https://twitter.com/Justin_Sheedy. Yup, Justin certainly has social media all wrapped up!
 

 

For those who haven’t already read Nor the Years Condemn, Sydneysiders can obtain it at Dymocks Sydney, Chatswood, Macquarie Centre, Broadway, Bondi Junction, Rouse Hill and North Sydney; at the iconic Gleebooks; and at Berkelouw Paddington. It is also available at Dymocks Camberwell and the Australian War Memorial. You can order a print on demand paperback at http://www.amazon.com/Nor-Years-Condemn-imaginable-survival/dp/146807265X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=132651, download the ebook from http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87708 or take a sneak at http://www.amazon.com/Nor-Years-Condemn-Justin-Sheedy/dp/146807265X#reader_146807265X

Happy Reading!

 

I am delighted Justin Sheedy agreed to be the subject of my first Echat With... Stay tuned for next month’s where Charles Page, former commercial pilot and author of Vengeance of the Outback. A Wartime Air Mystery of Western Australia and Wings of Destiny. Charles Learmonth DFC and the Air War in New Guinea, reveals the secrets of his life and writing success, including the influence of his very special co-pilot.
 

Saturday 27 April 2013

Kristen's Echat with... Justin Sheedy

Justin Sheedy started his self publishing career with Goodbye Crackernight, a memoir of growing up in 1970s Australia. He followed this up with Nor the Years Condemn, a fictional tribute to the boys of the Empire Air Training Scheme who flew Spitfires and Typhoons against the Luftwaffe. He is currently poised to release Ghosts of the Empire, which focuses on one of the characters from Nor the Years Condemn. I wondered, how does Justin do it?
 
Justin will feature in my very first Echat with... So don’t forget to visit on 1 May 2013 to find out about Justin’s life and writing practice, and to perhaps pick up some helpful hints on successful self publishing.
 
 
 
 

Wednesday 24 April 2013

Anzac Day 1960

On a number of occasions during the 1950s, Jack Davenport DSO DFC* GM, former commanding officer of 455 Squadron RAF, provided radio commentary when the air force contingent marched past on Anzac Day. On Anzac Day 1960, he spoke about the meaning of ‘Anzac’ and the importance of remembering the actions of those who fought during Australia’s twentieth-century wars. Through this speech, we can see how much it meant to him to remember the sacrifices of his friends and comrades, and can clearly understand his personal commitment and dedication to honouring their memories and deeds. We also recognise themes which are still relevant to how we remember those who have fallen in our nations service.



*****

ANZAC

...What is Anzac and what has it come to mean? We not only recognise and remember the sacrifice and achievements of the dead, we remember all those who fought and all those who contributed. The concocted word ‘Anzac’ has come to mean a great deal more now than originally was the case. Sacrifice, heroism and uncounted odds, excitement and battle, monotony, dirt, tiredness, swear, fear and comradeship—somehow too—discipline and swy: being in the line and out of the line also get mixed up in it somehow. It is good that from time to time we set ourselves to remember those that were kicked, and those that came back, and probably most of all, the reasons why.

On this occasion I think it is well to remember the stark reality of the many scenes which to me mean Anzac. Without the memory and appreciation of these things and a conscious effort even on our everyday life, in recognition of and consideration of our fellow man, these things can and will recur—if we remember all the horror and the sacrifice it perhaps can be worthwhile.

It all began on the beaches of Gallipoli, the bleak hills, the bare beach, the murderous fire from the Turks, the lugging of stores from the transports to the trenches, sudden death and slaughter. An ill-conceived operation, typical of War. Australian and New Zealand guts making up for the incompetence of the planners of manipulators of War.

It goes further in that era—to the trenches of France, the cold, the mud, the rain, and the sheer misery day in day out, bayonets and patrols, prisoners and fear and always at hand sudden death and slaughter. For those that did not experience that era, to me, it is hard to visualise such stark, purposeless misery of static trench warfare.

At sea in the rough and calm, in temperatures way over the hundred, in freezing, with the enemy lurking everywhere; the terrible sight of an oil tanker on fire. I think of the engine room crew in those days in a ship in action. No eyes to see what went on outside, really hard work, but working harder and harder, hoping to lose the fear in exertion. Slightly dry mouths and always a great expectancy. Visualise the spirit of the men who flew the box kites of World War I. As far as death was concerned, they were their own worst enemy.

And eventually came the end of the war to end all wars, the war that eventually proved to be a great dress rehearsal for the slaughter and destruction and the new horrors developed in the Second World War. We have the more murderous weapons, the mighty guns, the submarines, the aircraft, the bombs, the rockets. The allies hopelessly unprepared have, as an aftermath of the political bungling, the fantastic scenes of Dunkirk and the incredible heroism and contribution not only of the soldiers and sailors, but of the ordinary man. A small group of pilots outclassed in equipment and numbers fighting a back to the wall, do or die battle. They did and they died. Blenheims, Fairey Battles and Hurricanes. Perhaps these three aircraft against three squadrons three times a day.

We go to the heat of the desert, sand and heat and heat and sand, aircraft in the sky looking lazy and peaceful but suddenly so deadly. The land mines, the mad frantic dashes from position to position, the discomfort. Can the supplies arrive in time? Can we unload the ships before the Luftwaffe sinks them? The wounded, the prisoners, against the heat and the sand. The waiting.

The aircraft over Europe, the incredible Guy Fawkes display [of] flak making the peacetime displays cheap unspectacular comparisons; the grasping, needling fingers of searchlights, their tenacity and refusal to let go when they [caught] an aircraft in their beams. Glaring blindness. The warning shout of a rear gunner as the enemy night-fighter comes in for the kill—diving and weaving—contortions borne of some panic. The glorious darkness as the cone of lights is shaken off. The cold, the freezing of the sweat of fear, the smell of flak, the blazing wrecks hurtling, apparently quite remotely, downwards. Fire and destruction.

The clash of the German battleships in the Channel—the death and glory. Attacks by 100 miles per hour Swordfish, by Hampdens with bombs. Men doing a vital job with practically no chance, but asking no questions. In London where death stalked everyone at all hours with the wicked V1 and V2. The hushed expectancy as the motor puttered overhead—the waiting for it to stop. Or the sudden explosion from nowhere. The fires and the amazing calm.

In the jungle of New Guinea, the swamp, the mud, the rain, the waiting, Sudden death in the jungle where so often disease too took sides with the enemy. The Navy in the Pacific. The terrible fires, the fanatical enemy with human shells. The beaches and more fanatical inhuman enemies. So often I think of those fantastic convoys though the North Sea to Northern Russia. Seas in which a human being could not survive for more than two minutes. Ships with their superstructure so thick in ice that they were in danger of capsizing, where the human hand could not touch any metal. Where living was almost impossible and fighting was frightful. Convoys proceeding, for many parts of their journey, unescorted, because of the decision of somebody sitting in a warm office in London.

Visualise the frame of mind of the lone Hurricane pilot sitting and waiting, day in and day out, in the most appalling conditions, to be rocketed off a rig in the front of some merchant ship, pitching and tossing in the sea, to meet a greatly superior numerically enemy force. The convoy must get through. This is the David and Goliath operation. If he is shot down, two minutes in the sea and he is dead. When the battle is over, if he survives what does he do? He cannot get back to friendly territory. If he has enough petrol he can fly and bale out over the snows of enemy territory. If he has not enough petrol he can bale out near the convoy hoping to be picked up in less than two minutes. Men volunteered for this work, truly brave men—I think of the Malta convoys—

Let us remember the fortitude and sheer guts at the prison camps, where only the Anzac spirit and heritage enabled survival at times. Let us too think of those left at home—for some of these the sacrifice was indeed great. And again more recently we have had the bleak, frightening fighting and cold of Korea. To me, all these things are the backdrop of Anzac. From these scenes come what today we call Anzac. It was there and it is the reason why we can and should now tell of these things. Some of them are great and brave—others are horrible but they all have a reason—they must have a reason.

Particularly at times like this we recognise all these achievements and the manner of these achievements we remember the background—let us also remember the reason. Let us try and carry some of these qualities, even characteristics, self-sacrifice in particular, not only in war but into our daily life. And in remembering try and construct our way of life, our attitude to our friends and our neighbours and to other peoples so that the scenes cannot again recur. For day by day the means of destruction grow greater and greater.
*****
(Edited extract from Jack Davenport Beaufighter Leader, Allen & Unwin (2009) http://www.kristenalexander.com.au/books/jack-davenport-beaufighter-leader)


Jack Davenport led the men of 455 Squadron RAAF at the Sydney Anzac Day march whenever business commitments allowed.

Sydney Anzac Day March (date unknown). Jack is second from right.


Jack Davenport (left) and Jack 'Bluey' Collins (right)
Close up of the 455 Squadron banner

Tuesday 23 April 2013

Jack Davenport 24 April 1943

Seventy years ago, Dundee, in Scotland, planned a ‘Wings for Victory Week’ which was set to open on Easter Saturday, 24 April 1943, with a forces’ march past. Led by the RAF Pipe Band, the parade would include detachments from the local Home Guard, the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force, the Women’s Royal Naval Service, the Army Cadets, and the Women’s Land Army, as well as police, air raid precaution wardens and children’s groups, combined with representatives from the Navy and Air Force. 455 Squadron RAAF had been invited to form part of the air force contingent.

 Squadron Leader Jack Davenport decided that, at the conclusion of the ‘Wings for Victory’ parade, the squadron would march to the Dundee War Memorial for a wreath laying and commemoration ceremony. Jack put his idea to Flight Lieutenant Fred McKay, the Presbyterian padre who was spending a few days at Leuchars station where the squadron was based, who gladly agreed to conduct a special pre-Anzac Day service. He well knew the sacrifices the Australian squadrons had already made in the war and suggested appropriate music and words to honour those men.

 The opening day of ‘Wings for Victory Week’ was blustery and overcast but the local populace came out in their thousands to cheer the parade. Those lining the streets were ‘cheering and cheerful’ as they gave the procession its warmest welcome. After the parade, the squadron was bussed part way up Law Hill and Jack took Reverend McKay in his staff car. The boys alighted from their busses and regrouped. They marched the last few yards to the top of the hill to the strains of Oh! God Our Help in Ages Past. There they gathered around the Cenotaph where they experienced a panoramic view which encompassed the Firth of Tay and the city of Dundee. The grey skies were a fitting backdrop to the sombre occasion. It was a purely private ceremony; the public had not been invited to share in this personal commemoration. The pipers reprised Oh! God Our Help in Ages Past, with the boys now joining in, and Reverend McKay conducted a moving service. Jack read a lesson and then stepped forward to place a wreath on the Cenotaph, speaking a few words of remembrance as he did so. A lone piper then played a Scottish lament and the mournful bagpipe skirl filled the air. Perhaps Jack was reminded of his days serving in the 30th Battalion, New South Wales Scottish Regiment, which was affiliated with the famous Black Watch and its striking tartan formed a memorable part of the battalion’s battle dress.
 
 
(Jack Davenport, 30th Battalion)
 
 This ceremony beautifully, soberly and sincerely honoured the contribution of their fallen comrades. It did much to reinforce the squadron bonds, and was remembered for many years afterwards. The memory also remained in Jack’s heart. In the early 1990s, shortly after he and his wife Sheila had moved to their Mosman home, Jack hosted a reunion for his squadron ground crew. Recalling the pipers of that long ago ceremony, Jack’s guests were piped into their meal by a lone bagpipe player. Not, this time, to the strains of a sombre hymn, but to the skirls of a traditional march. The years fell away, memories stirred as the past returned and the already strong bonds strengthened as past deeds, sacrifices and friends were remembered.
 

 

 

 (Edited extract from Jack Davenport Beaufighter Leader, Allen & Unwin (2009) http://www.kristenalexander.com.au/books/jack-davenport-beaufighter-leader)
 
 

Saturday 20 April 2013

Clive Caldwell and the Red Baron

When Manfred von Richthofen died on 21 April 1918, 3 Squadron AFC gave him a full military funeral and the 5th Australian Division sent a wreath ‘to our worthy and gallant foe’. What’s the connection between the ‘Red Baron’ and Clive Caldwell?
 
 
As a youth, Caldwell read about about the air aces on both sides of the Great War—Ball, McCudden, Bishop, Collishaw, King Cowper, Udet, Immelman and Richthofen. But they all did at the time, so that is rather tenuous. There was another connection. 


 Caldwell was a natural athlete and spent much of his leisure time on the athletic track, running for the East Sydney Amateur Athletics Club. He went to Melbourne for the 1929–30 Australian Championships in January 1930 where he participated in the high jump and javelin throw but was unplaced in both events. Third place-getter in the javelin throw was Anthony ‘Nick’ Winter, the 1924 Olympic Triple Jump champion. Caldwell and Winter kept in contact and in 1943 Winter presented Caldwell with a unique dress ring made from a souvenired piece of steel from Richthofen’s shot-down aircraft (Nick had enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force on 31 July 1915. He embarked for Egypt with reinforcements for the 7th Light Horse Regiment in October and was posted to the Australian Army Service Corps as a driver in January 1916. He arrived in France in June 1916 and was employed mainly in depot duties.)
 
 

 

Wednesday 17 April 2013

John Crossman at Cranwell. April 1940

April 1940: John Crossman had recently arrived at Cranwell for his advanced training. On 17 April he finally went solo on the Hart, a more powerful and manoeuvrable machine than the Tiger Moths he had trained on at Ansty.
 
(John Crossman and  the Australians on his training course at Cranwell, April 1940. John is on the far right hand end of the front row, sitting.)

 ‘Went solo this morning at last, thank the Lord. Beat the wind to it and had a good thirty minutes solo. It was good. To be alone once more. I must say Harts are a nuisance what with cheese cutters and winding the radiator in and out. There are so many gadgets to look after and a fellow has to be very much on the ‘que vive’ all the time especially as there are so many planes about to look for and keep away from.’

 He went solo again on the 18th and felt he was really coming along: ‘went up to 8000 and tried up some aerobatics. These Harts handle very well’. He was pleased that his training was advancing, but so was the war and he was frustrated that he was still a long way from it: ‘The navy is putting up a good show and has sunk about ten German warships. I wish I could get into it and do my bit, we are all longing to have a go at them.’
 
 

 John Crossman is one of the Australian pilots featured in Australian Eagles. Australians in the Battle of Britain, Barrallier Books, July 2013. Reserve your copy now of the high quality production, limited edition of 500 signed and numbered copies.  
 

Tuesday 16 April 2013

Featuring ... Justin Sheedy, 1 May 2013

The book world is changing so much, so quickly. Print books are facing a great challenge from e-books, traditional publishing houses are threatened by ebooks and self publishers. Even the way we think about books is changing: is it something to treasure, is it disposable, is it something to read on my smart phone, ipad, ereader, or something to listen to on my iphone. (Well, not mine, a I don’t have most of these egadgets and I can’t work my Kindle. But someone’s.)
Writers, of course, face the greatest challenge: how to find their readership in a changing reading world, where traditional publishers are becoming more choosy about what they print and ebook lists are flooded by thousands of new titles every day. And, assuming they have found a readership, writers can't just close the attic door and get on with their writing. They have to market themselves, present themselves for interview, constantly twitter, blog and facebook. How on earth do they rise to all these challenges? In particular, how do those without the backing of traditional publishing house make a success of this strange new world of writing, blogging, engaging a readership and self promotion?
As I anxiously await the results of my agent’s attempts to pitch my next opus to a traditional publishing house, I watch, fascinated, at how one young writer is successfully navigating this strange new world. Justin Sheedy started his self publishing career with Goodbye Crackernight, a memoir of growing up in 1970s Australia. He followed this up with Nor the Years Condemn, a fictional tribute to the boys of the Empire Air Trainee Scheme who flew Spitfires and Typhoons against the Luftwaffe. He is currently poised to release Ghosts of the Empire, a parallel journey-story of one character from Nor the Years Condemn who flew the de Havilland Mosquito.
 
Justin works the facebook pages, puts in personal appearances, chats with radio interviewers, and produces a blog to publicise his books, even as he holds down a day job and writes the next one. And he is making a success of it. I wondered, how does he do it? I thought, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? And so I did. I could not believe it. In the week he notched up a couple of radio chats and prepares for his instore appearance at Dymocks Chatswood (one of my former stomping grounds and bookstore of choice: too far to go there now!) he kindly answered a whole raft of questions about his life and writing experience. How lucky was I?
And there began the germ of an idea. Why don’t I share his story and experiences? Why don’t I ask other writers about theirs? And so, with Justin’s permission, I decided to post our echat.
So, stay tuned, for my 1st of the month author echat.  It would be great to give this soon-to-be regular post a name: suggestions welcome. And I had better think of one before 1 May when I will feature Justin Sheedy. (I am on a roll with this idea: I have already lined up Mr June and Mr July.)
 
 
Can’t wait to put it all together and share some wonderful authorial lessons. I might even learn something. 
 

www.kristenalexander.com.au

I am happy to announce that, at long last (well, six months actually) my new website is up and running.

Please visit www.kristenalexander.com.au and check out my books (in print and yet to come), some of the media related to my books, my reviews, and some of my favourite photos from my life, book launches and china collection!

Thursday 11 April 2013

The greatest influence on my reading life

My mother died 17 years ago today, and it seems like only yesterday. Sadly, she never knew that I would go on to write about some of the great characters in Australia’s aviation history. She had a major influence on the young budding writer. She used to love my little creative writing efforts as a child and proudly cut out the snippets that appeared in the Charlie Chuckles Club pages in the Sunday Telegraph. Even more important, she laid down the foundation for my writing. They always say you can’t possibly write if you don’t read. Well, I read, and my mother fostered that passion from an early age.

When I was a littlie, she weekly bought me a Little Golden Book when doing the groceries. They were only 20c in those days and the supermarket stocked them on spinners I think, near the checkout so kind (or harried, with screaming children) mums could select a title at the last moment and pop it into the trolley. As I grew older, Mum donated to me all her own childhood books (most, now, alas gone) and kept me well supplied at birthday and Christmas times. I remember one Christmas receiving a big suitcase full of books! All read by the end of the long holidays, just in time for my birthday and a new supply. And whenever a new Enid Blyton came out, it would appear in my book case—oh yes, I had my own special bookcase, made by Uncle John. Still have it, by the way, although, in a house of built-ins, it is now used for CDs.

On our holiday of a lifeline to Surfers Paradise when I was nine, Dad took my brother and sister to the beach while Mum and I trailed through all the bookshops looking for more Enid Blytons for my collection. All gone now. I had left them in storage at my grandparents when I grew out of them and they went all mouldy so Dad had to turf them. I have never replaced them. And I have never forgotten those mother/daughter forays into bookshops, looking for another elusive title. Guess I still have that in me: as a bookseller, we are always on busman’s holidays/weekends off in other bookshops.

When I was at school, a company called Ashton Scholastic sent around lists to subscribing schools and the students would select what they wanted from the catalogues. Parents would then send in a little cheque and voila! a stack of books would turn up every month or so. I loved receiving those catalogues, reading the book blurbs and then choosing which ones I wanted to read. My mother loved reading and she never stinted on my catalogue selections. Perhaps too, as my siblings were not overly interested in reading, she had enough funds to cover the selections for just one avid reader.

To my dying day I will be grateful to my mother for providing me with lots of books, constantly!

Mum always had her nose in a book. As do I. I often gave her books as gifts and, as we had similar taste, I would read it first, leaving a little Vegemite stain (I was and am a Vegemite kid) and my personal guarantee that all the words were there. I can no longer pass them on to her but I have a friend who, like me is a voracious reader, and in many things our tastes coincide so, if I think she will like something, I put it in ‘her pile’. Sometimes, I even find myself choosing books deliberately because I know she will like them! It is wonderful to share something with someone you know will appreciate it.

Like me, my mother would always make time each day to read. If she could not, it was as if someone had cut off her last breath. I have the same feeling if deprived of time to read. Of course, there came a time when her last breath was cut off, and, naturally, almost to the last she was reading. On that terrible night, that first terrible night that heralded a new life without my mother, I picked up the last book she was reading. She had left her bookmark in it and I continued to read. I finished the book for her and turned down the corner (don’t tell the collectors or book purists) of the last page she had read. It was Bryce Courtenay’s April Fool’s Day and perhaps not my first choice for the last days of a life, or for the first days of my grieving but strangely, it did help as I focussed another family’s struggle with love, life and loss. It still sits on my shelf. I won’t read it again but it triggers memories so I will not part with it.
 

Mum and Misty 1995

 
Mum and Me 1980