Meet The Author

I was born in ENGLAND in the City of Leicester, or Ratae Coritanorum as it was then known to the lads in the Roman army after they established it as a military camp in AD 50.

*Ignore the fairies. I don't know why they suddenly appeared - the disbelieving little devils.*

I came from a bit of a deprived background. When I was a beautiful baby my parents lived in lodgings.

I slept in an iron cot until I was six years old and my dad ultimately had to saw the three bars out the end of it so I could stick my feet through.

When I was nearly seven years old and my sister was on the way to being born, we rented a house in the centre of Leicester. It was part of a row of terraced houses in the backstreets.

The narrow street was made up of cobblestones and at the end of it was a rubble strewn area of wasteland. The dumping ground made a good place to play cowboys and indians, but my mum was always complaining about me coming home smelling of stale cat wee!

There were two downstairs rooms to the house, with a space under the stairs (the coal-hole) where the coalman tipped a sack of coal for the fire. A small out-house affair was attached, which acted as the kitchen. In it was a stone sink with wooden draining board and washboard, a brick built zinc-lined tub in which you poured water and placed your clothes - with a hearth underneath to light a fire and boil the laundry clean. The mangle for wringing out the clothes was kept outside (my job).

There were two bedrooms upstairs. Mine had my bed, a goldfish bowl and a cot for my sister, who was born shortly after we moved in.

There was no electricity. We had gas lighting with gas pipes that stuck out of the wall. These were topped with a small gauze sack (mantle) that glowed when you lit the gas with a match. I had a candle in a mushroom-shaped ceramic holder for my bedroom. The only heating was the living room fireplace, which also heated a small oven each side of it to cook in.

There was no water supply to the house. It was my job to fetch the water in a bucket from a standpipe in the backyard, which was shared between six houses. A brick built toilet stood at the top of the yard and was shared with the house next door. Daytime was alright, but it was a bit eerie going up there at night by moonlight - particularly when the candle was blown out through a hole in the door by the moaning winter wind as you sat there.

Nightmare scenarios of giant spiders (closing in on you in the blackness) invaded your thoughts as you feverishly struck a match to relight the candle:

The other nightmare was reaching up to the bit of string that hung from a wooden beam supporting the iron toilet cistern, only to find that no one had bothered to thread newly-torn squares of newspaper to it.

The slate-covered roof of the toilet had holes in it and you could see the stars in the sky:

"I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky; and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by."

"I must go down to the loo again, to the lonely loo and the sky; and all I ask is a candle and a star to steer me by."

One bonus for me was the hosiery factory over the wall at the back of our loo. Some days I stood atop the wall and put on my best angelic face:

The factory women on the knitting machines used to throw sweets to me out of the windows. I think it was to me and not at me. Who cared?

There was, of course, no bathroom. We had a tin bath that hung on the outside kitchen wall. This was put in front of the fire and filled with kettles and saucepans of water heated on the fireplace ovens.

The odd mouse threatened to complain to the R.S.P.C.A. about the living conditions, but they never pressed charges, because they did enjoy certain fringe benefits:

We took in a stray cat for a while, but he was given the boot, because he never caught one mouse - and he always had a piddling excuse!

By the time I was nine, it was my responsibility to bung my two year old sister in the pushchair in the morning, walk her up to the day nursery, drop her off then carry on to school. After school, I collected her again, walked her home and got the front door key from the outside toilet to get into the house.

Once inside, the ritual was to clean the ashes out of the fire grate, light a new fire to warm the living room, get my sister some warm milk and something to eat and wait for our mum to come home from work.

Eventually we were allocated a council house. I will never forget the first day we moved in. I spent it turning the water taps on and off. No more bucket-lugging for me buddy! It also had electricity, so no more burnt fingers with matches whilst lighting the gas lamps. The most luxurious thing of all (apart from having a real bath tub) was that it had an inside toilet. The relief of sitting on the loo without being attacked by spiders, or your bum turning blue, was ecstasy. I could have sat there until the cows came home!

Now, I have three married children of my own, who all own their own homes. I am very proud of them as wonderful human beings and for what they have achieved in life - each in their own individual way.

I am not quite sure when it started, but I was nagged by a feeling inside that there was something I needed to do. I was busy with other things, but the feeling kept tapping me on the shoulder and would not go away:

My own childhood experiences, plus my dealings in the past with deprived children, physically and sexually abused children, young people in care, those involved in crime and those whose home backgrounds did not fully value education, instilled in me the need to write something for them, as well as my grandchildren. I knew it would need to be both a humorous and exciting adventure story to keep a diverse range of readers entertained, yet I also wanted it to kindle interests in subjects that would probably be dismissed in everyday life.

It was a daunting task that I had set myself. There is nothing worse than staring, with a blank mind, at a blank page. Even worse; writing something down - only to lose it when the computer crashed:

I spent a lot of time staring at the computer screen. Thank goodness it did not damage my eyesight!

The only reliable computer programme on my desktop was the 'SCREEN-CLEANER' facility:

I once looked inside my computer for a logical solution, but it wasn't that simple:

I admit that I am not particularly computer literate:

So the last thing my wavering confidence needs is to be told that I am an IDIOT!

This is what I think a computer should do first thing in the morning!
Click on the link below and then type in your first name..
http://www.cse.unsw.edu.au/~geoffo/humour/flattery.html

Not to be deterred, I set out to write the book. I have no idea where all the words came from!:

Hence, Book I 'Flowers of the Gods' became Book II 'Children of the Stars' which became Book III 'A Bunch of Wild Flowers', resulting in 'The Wild Flower Trilogy'.

I spent two years, in between work and family commitments, slogging away writing them.

Then a further two years hawking the manuscripts around publishers and literary agents. However, I was a totally unknown, first-time writer. Therefore, not only was it quite easy for them to dismiss me out of hand, but also fail to grasp what I was trying to achieve. Consequently, I drowned more times in the tide of Rejection Slips than I drowned in tea whilst writing the books:

Still, despite the obstacles, I fulfilled my ambition and got there in 'the end.'

It is deeply satisfying to see my books going in and out of my local library and feeling I have brought pleasure and entertainment to others.