Oxford FREE indie Book Fair Issue 1: May 2020 Issue #1 May 2020

© 2020 Oxford Indie Book Fair

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2 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Editorial by Sylvia Vetta Andy, James, Ray and I shall all of you who would have exhibited, take it in turns to write the performed or visited on April 4 editorial and choose the cover we hope that our skills will have of our OXIB monthly online improved by November 21. magazine. I have chosen Our aim is to publish this online exhibitor Weimin He’s Job magazine at the end of each month done. until October. The final edition will be a printed booklet to give If you watched the final of University away on November 21. Although Challenge, Andrew Wiles presented the contents will be flexible each the trophy to the winning team in edition will include features that same spot where the builder relating to creativity, in all its forms celebrated finishing the job with a writing, publishing, art, poetry and handstand. It says Town and Gown performance. There will be virtual and the artist is Chinese so for me, book launches. In this edition we the picture represents the inclusivity present Gad’s Army. which the Oxford Indie Book Fair wants to champion. Since his time We are living through strange times as the university artist in residence when we cannot travel the world but ended, Weimin has been free to can escape into our imagination. explore new avenues and we have Katie Isbester of Claret Press writes included a feature by him. about Humour in Publishing. Should we think about how to laugh This first edition includes a gripping through Corona virus? Medics have a short story by John Matthews. In proverbial black humour which helps it there is a well-known character them survive and survive we must in who I shall not name in order not a time of plague. to spoil the pleasure of you reading it. This young man made accurate We can armchair travel to Goa with prophesies. Marissa de Luna and we can meet people virtually: characters from Andy, Ray, James and I regret that past, present and future including our skills in predicting the date of the founder of Oxford, St Frideswide Oxford’s first free Indie book fair proved to be woefully inaccurate. For If you would like to make a

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 3 contribution to the magazine form of YouTube videos so that you contact me [email protected] can use the link to promote your or [email protected] video anywhere on social media and The adverts people paid for will on your websites. Could you, at the appear in the online magazine. end of your video, or when sharing magazine features print or say We are working on another way of something like this? hopefully helping our exhibitors in these tough times. In May /June Ray, ‘I look forward to seeing you on Andy, James and I will try it out first. Saturday November 21 at the first We’ll post a series of short videos. Oxford Indie Book Fair. (Full details Feedback will be much appreciated. on www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk) If these prove popular then any Entry to the fair and the events is exhibitor or performer who would free and there should be something have taken part on April 4 can submit to engage readers of all ages and one to put on the site. tastes.’ The charge for posting the video at We hope you will share the magazine £20 will be the same as a full page or some or the features with your advert and it will stay on the website friends and on social media and until the end of the year and then hopefully help each other during this we will start afresh in 2021. If you unique time when Oxford is empty. feel this is a good idea but need help putting together a video then Andy can help you. He would charge a small fee to pay for his time and expertise. They will appear in the

4 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 5 Sponsors

The Oxford Indie Book Fair team. From left to right... Ray Foulk, James Harrison, Sylvia Vetta, Andy Severn With a selection of their books 6 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Contents Humour and Publishing 8 Exhibitor Listing 10 The Oxford Review of Books 29 Vortigern’s Architect 30 Wanna sell some books? No thanks! 37 The Moral Map 38 Frideswide: Who and where is she? 41 How European Art Deco found its way to the Indian subcontinent in the 1930s 44 Windows 2019 56 Life Writing: How you can begin 58 Why Join a Writers Group? 60 Jackpot Jetty 62 Book Launch 64 Ink painting and self-salvation 75 The Cracked Jug 78

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 7 Humour and Publishing by Katie Isbester There is a well-known correlation weighed in on the topic. Laughter is between the economy and the nasty, brutish and short and, while a length of women’s skirts; the worse thing-in-itself, its nature is ultimately the GDP the higher the hemline. unknowable given that its id is Something similar happens with escaping its superego. Or words to comedy. The darker the times, the that effect. more people scoop up humorous More persuasively, psychologist D. reads. PG Wodehouse’s works hit S. Hugelshofer suggested that in their highest level of popularity times of uncertainty and insecurity, in the 1930s. In the sunny post- humour can act as a buffer, it can war years, they didn’t sell as well. help to offset depression and Douglas Adams got A Hitchhiker’s feelings of hopelessness. Guide to the Galaxy on Radio 4 in That’s been my own experience. I the same year as 1978’s Winter of uncharacteristically published a spy Discontent. While Terry Prachett spoof solely because it made me started getting his writing published laugh when I badly needed to. At in the late 1960s, it wasn’t until the the time, I was incredibly stressed recession of the early 1980s that he organising a fundraiser cum book was able to sell his first Disc World launch hosted by bestselling author, novel. Tracy Chevalier. I realised too late This correlation is not a new that the professional fundraiser had discovery. One of the therapies that quit without bothering to inform me. doctors in Ancient Greece offered I had a few very mad, very bad weeks was to whisper jokes in the ears of to pull the event together. In the patients while they were distracted middle of the anxiety, uncertainty, with some other activity. A Bronze and insecurity, I got an email from Age version of laughter as the Steve Shepperd, asking if I’d had best medicine. Plato didn’t take a chance yet to read his comedy quite so therapeutic an approach thriller, A Very Important Teapot, and suggested that laughing at which he’d submitted six months someone’s pranks and pitfalls was prior. merely childish. Presumably, no I shouldn’t have read it. I really philosopher-king ever succumbed to didn’t have the time. Besides, this a giggle. Hobbes, Kant and Freud all 8 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk screwball comedy didn’t fit my pales quickly. Brevity being the soul publishing brand. And yet, I couldn’t of wit, the sheer volume of a book stop myself because the laughter robs the work of its humour. As a was such a release. Then I had to result, the comedy really has to be offer the man a contract. Seemed embedded in a plot with character only fair. development and a narrative arc. And I’m glad that I did. With the So comedy writing needs a host of COVID-19 pandemic raising anxiety finely-tuned well-crafted skills to pull and stress levels high, A Very off. That’s asking a lot out of just one Important Teapot is selling well. I sent person. For good reason, most TV a copy to a friend of mine diagnosed sit-coms have a host of writers. with a rare form of cancer that And then there’s the reality that had metastasized before she even comedy has a ticking clock, knew she had it. She wrote Steve especially satire. Jokes heavily Shepperd (via me) a note telling him rely on the context for their word how much she laughed. Everyone play, their shock and their dark needs an escape from their reality. commentary. I have no doubt that But let’s be honest. One man’s Shakespeare in his day was riotous. knee slapper is another’s lip curl. Now, we have to have many of his It changes the way we think of a jokes laboriously explained. person if we know that his face didn’t No wonder publishers resist comedy. ache from laughter at something Successful comedy writing has we all found uproarious. I remember to be broadly accepted as funny, once going to a Victor Borge concert have a degree of timelessness, be a with my mother, my sister and her cracking good yarn with a touching husband. My brother-in-law didn’t emotional subplot, and appear at a crack a smile throughout the entire moment of high anxiety, depression evening, and later, when prompted or hopelessness. And it’s such a by my mother, flatly offered, “Yes. shame because now, more than in Very funny. Yes.” They got divorced other recent years, we really do need soon after. a good laugh. The marmite nature of humour is Kate is the CEO of Claret Press a problem for publishers. Editors and Claret in Conversation hesitate to take the chance. What if they’re the only person who found it www.anchor.fm/claret-press funny? Plus, a collection of one-liners or a series of amusing anecdotes www.claretpress.com

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 9 Exhibitor Listing We have gathered together a fabulous collection of authors, artists, and small publishers for our debut book fair. We were hoping to run alongside the official Oxford Literary Festival in April, but as you know world events have put paid to those plans. But never fear, we will be back in November if all is well and we’re all delighted by the response of our exhibitors who have stood behind us and are champing at the bit to return with us to show you exactly what the creative community of Oxfordshire can do. Alley Cat Books Julie Ann Godson studied modern history at the University of Oxford, trained as a journalist, and worked in publishing for 20 years. She now lives in rural Oxfordshire and makes regular appearances talking about her research. She puts up a daily Oxfordshire history post on Facebook at @ julieanngodson. She very much hopes that, while her research adheres to the proper standards of academic rigour, her writing style will appeal to all. www.julieanngodson.com Appleton Wildlife Diaries 16 Year old, wildlife photographer and blogger, Alex White believes that a lifetime of caring for the environment can start close to home with fantastic experiences. Along with a host of well- known contributors, he reveals the simple and low-cost ways that people can enjoy nature. Together they share their passion, reveal what got them into wildlife in the first place and show how to get closer to it – now they want you to Get Your Boots On.

10 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Mark Atherton Mark Atherton teaches and researches Medieval English literature and English linguistics at Regent’s Park College and Mansfield College, University of Oxford. As well as these research areas he is also interested in the history of language, medievalism, and the setting of medieval poems to music. He will be signing copies of three of his recent books which are all linked by a theme of connections – that the past is not ‘another country’ but is grounded in deep roots that have shaped the present language of this country, its towns and villages and countryside, its political attitudes and institutions and even its literature. Sara Banerji Sara Banerji, author, sculptor, artist and creative writing teacher, is a well-established figure in the literary world. As well as writing her own work, she teaches creative writing, hosts writers’ discussion groups – and launched Oxford’s vibrant monthly ‘SparkOxford’ storytelling series. Sara’s voice is described by critics as ‘original and highly imaginative’ ‘en- tertaining’, ’bold’, ‘punchy’, ‘exciting’, ‘gripping, fluid and confident’. She is widely acclaimed as ‘a very gifted storyteller’. Bite Sized Books Biteback Bite-Sized Books are the antidote to comprehensive tomes that so often remain unread. In an hour’s reading, you can pick the brains of successful people – and then change your approach to whatever it is you want to do. Originally we focused on business issues, like sales, marketing,

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 11 project management and mapping your business architecture but have broadened our coverage to lifestyle matters, like yoga and taking a silver gap year, public affairs, like really exploiting PR and running a digital election campaign, and we are introducing children’s books and fiction. All our books are written to be read – and our authors have accepted the challenge of writing easily readable yet authoritative insights that can be readily understood and can change perceptions in less than an hour’s reading. We’ve also just started to add Bumper Bite-Sized Books which take a little more time to read but still have the same aims of clarity, simplicity, easy readability and engagement. Bombus Books Bombus Books is the publishing imprint of Oxford Inc, a group of Oxfordshire writers. As a group, they have collaborated in the publication of several Oxford- based collections of story stories, some of which have raised significant sums for local charities and, individually, they work on other projects of their own. Claret Press Our fiction and creative non- fiction explore the human spirit and our shared world through highly readable narratives, often with a political edge. Katie Isbester, our editor/publisher, also hosts a podcast, Claret and Conversation: Voices from the Creative Industry. www.claretpress.com

12 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Marissa de Luna Marissa de Luna is a passionate author who started writing in her late twenties. After spending her early years growing up in Goa, Marissa returned to England. She now lives in Oxford with her husband and two children. Her works include a psychological thriller and romantic suspense, but her main offering is cosy crime. She is a member of the Society of Authors and the Crime Writers’ Association. Dictum Press Julia E M Cameron (MA Aberdeen) served for 25 years as an obituarist for The Independent and The Times, and she is a contributor to the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Julia is active as a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts (FRSA). www.dictumpress.com Essential Audiobooks Catherine O’Brien’s love of reading inspired her to set up Essential Audiobooks, to bring her favorite books, both classic and modern, vividly to life, narrated by some of the most talented narrators in the business.

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 13 Ray Foulk & Caroline Foulk Oxford Indie Book Fair Organiser Father and daughter, Ray and Caroline have written a play, screenplays and books together, including memoirs documenting Ray Foulk’s life as creator of the Isle of Wight Rock Festivals. They have recently published their long awaited novel ‘Picasso’s Revenge’. The Four Wordsmen Performing at 4:20pm The Four Wordsmen are a quartet of performance poets, whose poems and stories vary from the seriously silly to the perilously profound. Their latest collection, ‘Words Go Out To Play’, is visually enhanced by Adrian Lancini’s ingenious page designs and typographic wit. There will also be a chance at the Indie Book Fair to catch the Wordsmen performing live. www.fourwordsmen.com Karen French Archetypal symbolism, especially sacred geometry, is Karen’s passion. She is an international, best selling author, artist, speaker and, more recently, a Game Designer. Numerate and creative Karen studied Mathematics and Management Sciences and then spent many years in international marketing, during which time she was published on several occasions. For the last 20 years she has devoted her time to extensive research across many disciplines for The Gateway Series books, and exploring archetypal symbolism through her Alchemical art. Current titles in the series include, ‘Gateway to the Heavens’ and ‘The Hidden Geometry of Life’. www.karenlfrench.com

14 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Greystones Press The Greystones Press is a small independent publishing company, based in Oxfordshire, specialising in good adult and young adult fiction and adult non-fiction in areas that interest us. These include literature, art, music, history, mythology and fairy tales. www.greystonespress.com Elisabeth Hallett Elisabeth Hallett lived in China for many years, working as an editor and in education. She met her Chinese husband in Beijing and returns frequently on family visits. She now lives in Oxford. ‘Mouse-wolf’ is her first published novel. ‘Mouse-wolf’ is the story of family in turmoil one unbearably hot summer in Beijing. Dreams, superstitions and three weasels all play a part as three generations navigate their way through very unsettling times. ‘Mouse-wolf’ is illustrated by Oxford-based artist Weimin He, and is published by Oxfordfolio under its new fiction imprint Anglepoise Books. www.mousewolf.co.uk Weimin He Many of you will have seen the artist’s work displayed on giant hoardings at the Radcliffe Observatory Quarter because Weimin He worked as artist in residence between 2009- 2015. Tower of the Winds is a recent publication recording his work during that time. Weimin He was born in Heilongjiang and came to the UK in 1999 and was awarded his PhD at the University of Belfast. He moved to Oxford in 2005 as Christensen Fellow at the Ashmolean and his ‘Building of the New Ashmolean’ was the first exhibition in the

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 15 rebuilt museum. Since 2015 Weimin has concentrated on self – expression in his art and worked hard to connect artists and print makers from the UK and China – particularly from Manchuria. He will be participating and curating an exhibition the is summer in Oxford Brookes Glass Cube where you will be able to see his new work. Korky Paul One of the 20% hardcore elite still scribbling with Pen ‘n Ink on Paper. Winnie the Witch and her long suffering cat Wilbur… From the pen of Korky Paul, the much loved illustrator of children’s books, presents his most famous character, the multi- million selling witch sporting a pair of Bacon ‘n eggs – red ‘n yellow stripy legs! Age 5+ Luminal 11 Liminal 11 is a mind, body, spirit publishing company with a focus on illustration/ comic arts, aiming to create products that are of benefit to the world and produced by a diverse range of voices. Their first publication, The Luna Sol Tarot, was released in 2018. They’ve since published a large range of beautiful books. In November 2019 they published Lisa Sterle’s long- awaited Modern Witch Tarot, as well as books on plant folklore, mental health and veganism by Fez Inkwright, Natalie Dormady and Sara Botero. www.liminal11.com Jake Lynch Oxford of the seventeenth century is brought to life in Jake Lynch’s historical mystery thriller, Blood on the Stone (Unbound Books). Months after publication, the novel enjoys Goodreads and Amazon ratings with an above-four average. www.jakelynch.co.uk

16 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Debrah Martin Debrah Martin writes psychological thrillers and literary fiction, as well as YA fiction under 3 pennames – Debrah Martin, D.B. Martin and Lily Stuart. She is also an artist and teaches creative writing and publishing and oil painting. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but it just about equals the paint brush, and one of Debrah’s non-fiction books is all about painting and how she uses her writing to inspire her art, and vice versa. Two of her adult fiction books have won Indie awards, and she has three new books releasing this year, alongside numerous art exhibitions around Oxfordshire. You can find out more about her and her work at www.debrahmartin.co.uk John & Caitlín Matthews ‘Oxford’s answer to all things mythic’ (Oxford Mail), being the authors of over 150 books. As storytellers, they focus upon the myths of Britain, the Celtic Countries, the Arthurian legends, and the living ancestral traditions that nourish the soul. They teach internationally, as well as advising historically on films and tv. www.hallowquest.org.uk Medina Publishing Ltd Founded 2009, is a young independent publishing company with a broad range of titles for children and adults. Our mission is to educate and entertain, to foster cultural understanding, particularly between the West and the Islamic world, and to encourage respect for our planet and all its inhabitants. Our HQ is in Cowes, Isle of Wight, where we have also opened a high street bookshop.

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 17 Angela Mills Bobby the Brown Long-Eared Bat by Angela Mills, Mills Stride Publications Mills Stride Publications was set up to enable the self publishing of the first book in the series of Bobby the Brown Long Eared Bat. The book is aimed at early readers; it is educational and exciting and we are pleased to be able to support the Bat Conservation Trust who receive 10 percent of the net proceeds to help the charity’s increasingly valuable work. The book is beautifully illustrated by Kate Wyatt with a foreword kindly provided by Chris Packham. www.bobbythebrownlong-earedbat.co.uk Mud Pie Books Buddhist Books and Books for Buddhists We are an independent specialist online publisher, dedicated to showcasing the best in Buddhist writing. Our lead title, The Buddha, Geoff and Me, has sold over 100,000 copies worldwide. Why the Name? It all goes back to a story from an ancient text: One day the Buddha was passing through a remote village on his travels. He came upon two little boys playing in the street. They were bare-footed and grimy but their eyes shone brightly and they called out when they saw him, for he was well known and loved in those parts. They wanted to present an offering to him, but were so poor they had nothing to give. So one of them scraped up the dirt at his feet, mixed it in a puddle and carefully fashioned it into a mud pie. Reverently he presented the mud pie to the Buddha. The Buddha accepted it graciously, bowed deeply and smiled. A century later the boy was reborn as the Emperor Ashoka, the greatest of all India’s rulers.

18 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Richard O.Smith Amazon no. 1 author and comedian Richard O. Smith is once again sticking his fork of curiosity into the live toaster of opportunity. Yes, that is quite dangerous. But he fears no extended metaphor. Once described as ‘a jam-packed jamboree of jollity’ by TV’s Dr Lucy Worsley, Smith’s latest comic essays The Best Ladled Pans of Rice and Penne build upon the success of his previous book Oxford Examined: Town & Clown (‘An outstanding comic writer’ – Countdown’s Susie Dent). Richard has written for BBC comedies including The Now Show and The News Quiz. OhToBee Dorothy Megaw is a local artist painting local scenes and has published a pamphlet of illustrated short stories entitled Oxford Gothic. “I love paintings because they say something about you, about what you like, about what you don’t like, about the associations and feelings which you associate with the image, and just sometimes, occasionally, they say something about the colour of your wallpaper. But always it’s all about you.” Her cards and books are available online. www.ohtobee.co.uk Oxford Childrens’ Book Group The OCBG is a local charity which works with local teachers, school librarians, and parents to celebrate the joys of literature with children and students of all ages. Based in Oxford, we are the local branch of the national Federation of Children’s Book groups and work across the county. To bring children and books together, we run a wide range of fun activities, workshops and events designed to open the doors to literacy, story and the love of literature. New members are always welcome! Membership (school/ individual) is £15 per year. www.ocbg.org.uk

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 19 Oxford eBooks Oxford Indie Book Fair Organiser Digital publishing specialists providing eBook production, typesetting, Print on Demand, Website creation and hosting. Come and talk with Andy at our stand about how we can help you self publish your work. www.oxford-ebooks.com Oxfordfolio / Anglepoise Books Oxford Indie Book Fair Organiser Oxfordfolio is an independent Oxford publisher, specialising in self-publishing. Founded by James Harrison in 2010, Oxfordfolio creates high- quality, eye-catching books that create a lasting impression both on the page and in the bookstore. Just published this year is Around The World by Land, Sea and Air by Mike Harry. In 2019, James launched his new imprint for fiction–Anglepoise Books–most recently publishing a collection of short stories by Liz Henderson, The West Façade. Oxfordfolio / Anglepoise Books |Your Life. Your Story. Your Book. www.oxfordfolio.co.uk Oxford Review of Books This year marks the third anniversary of the Oxford Review of Books. As a local cultural magazine, it is the home of long-form book reviews and essays, diary pieces, and contemporary poetry. The ORB is available at Blackwell’s and in newsagents across the country. To find the nearest bookshop for you and to keep up to date with our events, visit our website and subscribe to our newsletter. www.the-orb.org

20 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Oxford Writers Group The Oxford Writers’ Group (OWG) is the oldest of its kind in Oxford. Its inception dates from 1983 and over the years it has helped numerous writers to fulfil their dreams of publication. OWG set up Oxpens under which the group published five successful anthologies of short stories, all of which are set in Oxford, or in the surrounding countryside. The latest is The Radcliffe Legacy and other Oxford Stories.’ Published current members include: Crime: Ann Granger; Fiction: Liz Harris, Mary Cavanagh, Sylvia Vetta, Heather Rosser, Barbara Hudson, Rosie Orr, Margaret Pelling, Jane Gordon Cumming; Children’s fiction: John Kitchen, Chris Blount, Jane Stemp, Sheila Costello; Non-fiction: Gina Claye, Sylvia Vetta, Heather Rosser, Mary Cavanagh. www.oxfordwritersgroup.co.uk Dave Richardson and Symon Vegro Dave Richardson has spent 40 years as a specialist writer on travel and tourism and has been all over the world, writing mainly for travel industry publications. Yet when he joined the staff of Travel Trade Gazette in 1974 he had never even been on a plane and had been abroad only twice, by ferry. He continues to write for the Travel Trade Gazette and also ABTA Magazine (ABTA -The Travel Association), and is the author of ABTA: The First Fifty Years. www.historyofpackagetours.co.uk

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 21 Heather Rosser Heather’s writing career began as a journalist for the Botswana Guardian newspaper. On moving to Oxford she worked as an educational author for primary schools in Africa including Rwanda and South Sudan.She is secretary of the Oxford Writers Group and has stories in several of our short story anthologies. Her novel, In the Line of Duty, published in 2014, was shortlisted for the Romantic Novelists’ Association Joan Hessayon Award. Set in North Wales and London in the First World War, the novel draws on family memoir and historical fact as well as the author’s own imagination.Growing Up in the Mandara Mountains, published in June 2018, is a memoir about her daughter’s early life in a remote part of Nigeria where they spent time with healers and traditional chiefs in remote villages finding out about local customs.She is currently writing a sequel, Coming of Age in Botswana, covering a turbulent period in Southern Africa’s history.Heather is available for talks and workshops about Memoir Writing. www.heatherrosser.com sci-fi-cafe.com Publishing science fiction by local and international indie writers. We’re excited to be launching the new Drew Bryenton book “Gad’s Army” exclusively at the Oxford Indie Book Fair www.sci-fi-cafe.com Steve Sheppard Presenting his Debut novel, “A very Important Teapot”. A comedy spy thriller.

22 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Shotover Wildlife Presenting their not-for-profit book written and produced by members of Shotover Wildlife www.shotover-wildlife.org.uk

Signal Books Oxford-based trade publisher specialising in travel writing, history and local interest. www.signalbooks.co.uk

Peter Tickler Peter Tickler has written 6 crime novels set in and around Oxford. Praised for the authenticity and pace of his writing, he also runs creative writing classes, has written 2 short films and a very successful murder mystery play. He loves talking to groups! Oxford Towpath Press Mark Davies is an Oxford local historian, guide, and author with an especial interest in the history and literature of Oxford’s waterways. This focus stems from having lived on a narrowboat on the Oxford Canal since 1992, but more generally his expertise encompasses topics with ‘Town’ rather than ‘Gown’ associations. Mark is the author of A Towpath Walk in

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 23 Oxford and Stories of Oxford Castle, both self-published under the imprint of Oxford Towpath Press, as well as two distinctive books on Lewis Carroll’s ‘Alice’ (on which topic he has spoken as far afield as India). His biography of the Oxford pastry cook James Sadler, the first Englishman to fly, is called ‘King of all Balloons’, and he is currently preparing a booklet on the ancient boundaries of the city on behalf of the Museum of Oxford, which he is advising in preparation for its reopening early in 2021. www.oxfordwaterwalks.co.uk. Sylvia Vetta Oxford Indie Book Fair Organiser Sylvia Vetta is an author, journalist and speaker who wrote the life stories of 120 well known people she sent to her imaginary island of Oxtopia. Her latest novel Sculpting the Elephant is set in Oxford and India and reflects her own life experience including her experiences running Oxford Antiques Centre which she named as the ‘Jam Factory’. Her first novel Brushstrokes in Time (Claret Press) was inspired and informed by in depth interviews with the Stars artist Qu Leilei who along with Ai Weiwei marched in 1979 under a banner saying ‘In Politics we want Democracy and in Art freedom.’ Leilei’s father Qu Bo was a famous novelist and Madame Mao turned Tracks in the Snowy Forest into for one of her model operas. The background detail is unique and Brushstrokes in Time has just been released in German by Drachenhaus Verlag .Qu Leilei has regularly exhibited in Oxford including two one man exhibitions at The Ashmolean. www.sylviavetta.co.uk Gerald Vinestock All the monsters destroyed by Hercules have returned. Ten-year- old Crib deals with them all by wit and intelligence and without violence. The Nemean Lion becomes a vegetarian; the Cretan Bull now runs a china shop; the Erymanthian Boar writes love poetry and other monsters are similarly tamed. Crib is hindered by her well- meaning but incompetent uncle. www.geraldvinestock.co.uk

24 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Walton Street Writers We invite you to meet us, visit our stall, chat to the authors and maybe buy a book or two. We write stories for enjoyment, sales, profit and to support charities. Grouped around the established author, Sara Banerji, we meet weekly to read, criticise, encourage and enjoy the stories we write. Liz Woolley Oxfordshire local historian Liz Woolley will stock inexpensive books about lesser-known aspects of the county and city’s past. Discover how Oxfordshire residents were involved in the Spanish Civil War; where you can find remnants of Oxford’s industrial past; and the most interesting and iconic of the city’s trees. www.lizwoolley.co.uk | www.huxleyscientific.com

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 25 Writers in Oxford Writers in Oxford provides opportunities for writers to meet one another, discuss issues of mutual interest, and enjoy a range of literary and other activities. Our mission is ‘Engage, exchange, enjoy… ’

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26 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Liminal 11 is a mind, body, spirit publishing company with a focus on illustration/comic arts, aiming to create products that are of benefit to the world and produced by a diverse range of voices.

Their first publication, The Luna Sol Tarot, was released in 2018. They’ve since published a large range of beautiful books. In November 2019 they published Lisa Sterle’s long-awaited Modern Witch Tarot, as well as books on plant folklore, mental health and veganism by Fez Inkwright, Natalie Dormady and Sara Botero.

The Essential Vegan Toolkit is the perfect guide for anyone interested in becoming vegan.

AN ILLUSTRATED GUIDEBOOK FILLED WITH EVERYTHING YOU NEED Activist and illustrator Sara Botero TO KNOW TO GO VEGAN details the many reasons to make the – FOR GOOD! change – animal welfare, our health, the environment – and offers tonnes of practical advice on nutrition and diet, ‘This is the one book I highly recommend everyone including sections on alternatives, baking interested in veganism should read... it heralds a new and drinking. Also covered are tips for era of awareness and a generation of compassion and vegan living, from clothing and make- empathy from an author who is shining light of positivity up to cleaning and travelling. Finally, the and creativity.’ Toolkit offers advice on vegan etiquette, activism and living in a ‘non-vegan’ Fiona Oakes – elite marathon runner and vegan activist world. Writing with passion and expertise, and bringing a wealth of information to Sara Botero was born in Colombia, and for as long life through her charming illustrations, “This book is packed with knowledge and tips on how and as she can remember she has drawn and painted. Sara Botero inspires us to extend our why to go vegan. Sara’s gorgeous illustrations make it an Having grown up surrounded by nature, she is compassion to every living being. passionate about creating positive change and engaging and fun read for all ages and her nutrition charts protecting our environment, which led her to study are particularly useful.” Environmental Science at University of Reading. It’s easier than ever to go vegan, so why After graduating, art once again became a big Evanna Lynch – actress & vegan activist not give it a go? The Essential Vegan part of her life, and now she uses it to spread Toolkit will guide you on your way. important messages such veganism, zero waste and intersectional feminism. www.qitiji.co.uk ISBN: 978-1-912634-20-0

light at the crossroads www.liminal11.com

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Get in touch: [email protected] www. liminal11.com @liminal_11 @liminal_11 /liminal11 Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 27 OXFORD REVIEW OF BOOKS Spring issue now available With new reviews, essays, interviews, and exclusive poetry and prose. Find the latest issue of your local cultural magazine in Blackwell's

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28 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk OXFORD REVIEW Limbu) but the term’s highlight The Oxford remains the ORB Launch Party, OF BOOKS thrown for the publication of a new Review of issue. The ORB is available at Blackwell’s Books and in newsagents across the This year marks the third country. To find the nearest Spring issue anniversary of the Oxford bookshop for you and to keep Review of Books. As a local up to date with our events, visit cultural magazine, it is the our website and subscribe to our now available home of long-form book newsletter. reviews and essays, diary www.the-orb.org pieces, and contemporary With new reviews, essays, interviews, poetry. and exclusive poetry and prose. Over the years, the Oxford Review of Books, otherwise known as the ORB, has built itself a collection of interviews with politicians, activists, Find the latest issue of your local classicists, as well as renowned authors, actors and philosophers cultural magazine in Blackwell's such as Salman Rushdie, Sir Derek Jacobi and Miranda Fricker. The ORB also supports emerging artists, writers and critics. Each of its termly or order your copy online issue showcase exclusive artwork and prints the winning entry of its short story contest. The ORB prides itself in participating www.the-orb.org/shop in the local cultural scene. Each term, the editorial team hosts a guest lecture (past speakers include The ORB is also available in newsagents across the country. figures such as Zahra Hankir and Stephen Fry) and a poetry evening Find your nearest stockist on our website: (starring eminent and emerging writers, such as Jamie McKendrick, www.the-orb.org/about Mary Jean Chan and Mukahang

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 29 Vortigern’s Architect By John Matthews My credentials are the best you will find in the whole of Britain. I have constructed buildings for Princes and Warlords right across the land. Nothing like what I am about to describe ever happened to me before, I can assure you! I suppose I should have known things would go wrong right from the start. Vortigern was a tyrant and I don’t care who hears me say so. “Build me an impregnable tower,” he said - as though such a thing was easy. “Make it somewhere high and make sure it has a view over at least thirty leagues”. Let me tell you, there are few builders who would undertake such a commission - but I had my reputation to think of, so I said yes. (Not that one says no to Vortigern anyway, not if he values his life.) Of course, we all knew what it was he was afraid of - or rather who - Ambrosius and Uther, the two sons of King Constantine who some said Vortigern had ordered to be killed just before he declared himself High King. He must have been careless to let the two princes slip away to Amorica, because now everyone was talking about how they were raising an army across the channel and that pretty soon they’d be back - and looking for Vortigern. Hence the tower. Anyway, I set to work. The site was easy enough. Vortigern wanted it to be remote, high up and inaccessible (no thought for how we were supposed to get timber and stones all the way up there!) We settled on a high spur of rock in the shadow of Y Wydffa. At that time, it had no name; now people have started to call it Dinas Emrys - after him! I started to draw up plans. When I showed them to Vortigern he was well pleased. “Waste no time,” he said, “I want it finished by the end of the summer.” Of course, I knew that was virtually impossible (it was already well into Spring), just as I knew that the chances of being paid were slight, but I said yes anyway (what else could I do?) and set to work organizing things. First, I had to get enough men to do the work - and that turned out to be another problem, because Vortigern insisted on drafting a hundred men from his war-band to do the job. Let me tell you now, soldiers do not make good workers. First they think

30 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk they are too noble and high up to do such menial tasks; then they spend half the time fighting amongst themselves. Even after Vortigern had hung a couple of troublemakers and threatened the rest with a beating, they were still surly and dangerous. I had to insist they leave their weapons behind - I didn’t want to end up with a sword in my guts some dark night! So, we started digging. The foundations needed to be deep enough to support the very thick walls that Vortigern had demanded. While this was going on I had another set of men felling and trimming trees and a third lot away to the nearest quarry - which was fortunately close by - to start bringing back the huge blocks of dressed stones I was intending to use for the tower. The nearest wood was several leagues away, so the trees had to be dragged all the way to the foot of the hill, then carried up it. The ground was soft to the foot and we lost a couple of men when they slipped and allowed a tree to roll over them. But at last we get the scaffolding up and then began the exhausting work of dragging the stones up there as well. It took two weeks to get enough of them up there to lay the foundations and set the first two courses of the walls. That brought the tower only waist high to a tall man and we still had a long way to go. It was mid-way through April by then and preparations were already afoot for the Beltain celebrations. The men were grumbling all the time - more than usual that is - because they wanted time off to visit their families and prepare for the feasting. But I knew we had little chance of getting the work done in time and I pushed them as hard as I could - invoking Vortigern’s name every time they were inclined to give up. Some slipped away anyway, and I had to make do with a reduced work force. But still the tower proceeded. We got it up to three courses before disaster struck. One night it rained heavily, which would not normally have been a problem. But sometime in the middle of the night there came noise which sounded like a giant turning over in his sleep and then all hell broke out, with men and horses screaming and yelling, and several more huge crashes and the sound of trees being broken apart. At first, I thought we were being attacked, but the noises were the wrong sort for that, and I realized with a sick feeling that something had gone wrong with the tower. By the time some sort of order had been restored and we had enough torches to see what had happened it was already getting

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 31 light. In a mixture of smoke and pre-dawn blur I surveyed the mess. And what a mess it was. The whole wall had simply fallen down as though it had been pushed over. Great cracks spread though the earth and down the hillside and most of the blocks of stone were back at the bottom of the hill. At least two men had been crushed, and several others suffered minor injuries. The scaffolding was wrecked, and new trees would need cutting. None of it made sense. As soon as it was properly light, I went to walk the ground and examine the whole sorry mess. On the face of it, nothing added up to what had happened. I know my job well enough to have made sure the foundations were well sunk and that the hilltop was stable enough to take the weight. The stones had been well cut and dressed and I had overseen the construction myself - every inch of the way. I knew about Vortigern’s famous bad temper and hadn’t wanted to experience it for myself. Now I was going to have to. To my surprise he was less angry that I had expected. Maybe his mind was on the latest news of the Princes - that they were about to set sail for Britain. Instead of ordering me to be punished he simply stared at me with those dead, flat eyes of his and told me to get on with it. He also drafted another fifty men to help. Even with them it took another ten days to restore the damage done by whatever freak of nature had cause the walls to tumble. This time I made sure that everything was doubly reinforced with wooden props. Nothing short of an earthquake would shift the walls this time - I would have staked my reputation on it. It was just as well I didn’t, because two nights after that the whole thing started again. The same groaning of the earth, the same crashes and cries, and in the morning the same result - the walls were down, the blocks of stone carving huge scars down the face of the hill. I have to admit that I was beside myself with a mixture of fear and anger. Fear for what Vortigern would do to me, anger that the impossible had happened despite everything I could do. Vortigern must have really wanted that tower to be built. Because, where most men would have given up and looked for another site, he came back with a command that I should continue with the work. Along with the man who brought this message came someone else - and I knew it was going to mean more trouble as soon as I saw him.

32 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Vortigern’s chief druid. His name was Maugant and he had an evil reputation as a cruel and contentious man. Of course, he insisted on inspecting the ruins of my work, pacing round the broken stones, muttering and shaking his staff over the cracks in the earth. Eventually he called me to him. “ There are evil spirits in this place” he said. “A sacrifice will be required. You are commanded by my lord Vortigern to do no more work until he gives you permission.” An unpleasant smile slid over his face. “ He also bids me tell you that he will be here by sunrise tomorrow to inspect the site personally.” That was all I needed to know. To have the druid poking and prying into my business was bad enough; the presence of Vortigern himself seemed like a potential death-warrant. Then there was this matter of the ‘sacrifice’. Such things always make me uncomfortable, though I realized the gods require it from time to time. Then again, when I considered the events of the last week, I began to think that Maugant might be right. There was no good reason for the stones of the tower to fall, and no good reason meant there had to be a bad one. So work stopped. We waited for Vortigern to arrive - which he did, next day; then we waited again while he and Maugant consulted, walked about and prodded the earth on the hilltop, then waited some more while Maugant went through a series of divinations to discover what was wrong. Finally, word filtered down that Maugant had declared that only the blood of a fatherless boy would seal the stones. My instructions were to prepare the foundations again, and then to wait until such a child could be found. Vortigern sent out a number of search parties through the surrounding county - Maugant having assured him that the required sacrifice would be found nearby. The next few days I was busy enough, marshalling my teams of reluctant workers to prepare for the task of restoring their broken-down walls and then, when all was ready, to continuing with the rest of the job. Then I heard that one of Vortigern’s search parties had found a boy who had no father. He and his mother - who was apparently a princess of the area, were being brought there. Everything was set, and Maugant began his preparations for the sacrifice. I saw the party arrive, the woman and her son muffled in cloaks and taken straight to Vortigern’s tent.

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 33 Soon after I received a summons to attend upon the High King myself. I made my way to the richly decorated tent and was ushered in. There were a number of people there. Several important-looking men whom I guessed to be Vortigern’s advisors and generals, Maugant, with three others of his kind, as well as various lesser hanger-on. The air was stuffy and hot, and I could tell at once that I had entered in the middle of an argument. In the middle of the tent stood two others - a woman of middle years whose face, though not beautiful, had a certain quality about it which made her seem fair; and a youth of maybe twelve years, slightly built with long dark hair cut raggedly around his face. As I came in the youth turned his head to look at me, and I saw that his eyes were a curious pale grey colour. But, more than that, it was the way he looked at me - as though he could see right inside of me - that made me want to look anywhere than into those eyes. Almost at once he looked back at Vortigern, who sat frowning in a heavily carved chair. The king turned his most baleful stare on me. “This.... child ... tells me he knows why my tower will not stand. I want you to hear what he has to say.” To my secret relief the boy did not look at me again, but kept those strange eyes fixed on Vortigern. His voice had a clear light tone that seemed at variance with the measured way he spoke. “ The tower will not stand because there is a pool of water deep within the hill. At the bottom of this pool is a stone casket and within the casket are two dragons. Every night they struggle against each other and their movements cause the hill to shake.” “Well, master mason, what do you say to this?” demanded Vortigern. I thought quickly. I had of course taken soundings of the hilltop, but had I gone deeply enough? Of course, most of what the boy said was pure nonsense - probably invented in the hope of saving himself from certain death - but the pool could be a possibility. Finally, I said: “I would have to dig more deeply to see if this is true or not.” “Then do it,” ordered Vortigern. “But be quick.” As I left the tent, I caught sight of Maugant’s face. He looked angry and - yes - something else ... was it fear? I had no time to think of it because I was

34 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk already shouting for men to come and bring tools to dig. Several hours later I stood on the edge of deep pit looking down and seeing water seeping up between rocks and earth. The boy had been right - though how he had known I could not fathom. I sent a messenger to Vortigern who decided to come and look for himself. In the end most of the court were standing around the edge of the pit. The boy and his mother had been brought there as well. “I see no stone chest.” Vortigern said. “Nor any dragon’s”, added Maugant with a sneer. “Nonetheless, they are there”, said the boy. Vortigern turned to me. “Dig,” he said. And dig we did, for several more hours, at then of which time, the lid of an ornately carved stone sarcophagus measuring nearly ten feet in either direction was revealed. The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I looked at it. I thought Vortigern looked uneasy for the first time. But he quickly hid it. “Open it” he said. So pry-bars were fetched and the lid slowly raised. It took fifteen of my strongest men to shift it, but finally it slipped sideways with a crunch and we were looking into the stone coffin. I will never forget what we saw there. Dragons indeed. Or at least what are commonly known as dragons - though a good deal smaller than the storytellers would have us believe. I would say they measured no more than the height of two men from nose to tail. But they had wings, thin membranes stretching back from just below their shoulders. Serpentine necks, long barbed trails, heavy clawed feet - they were dragons all right. And, just as the boy had said, one was red the other white. No one said anything. But as we watched in utter silence the dragons began to move and stretch, then they flew up into the air with a cracking and creaking of wings that echoed from the surrounding mountain slopes. Ignoring us completely, they began to fight. I suppose we stood there for an hour while the two dragons fought, held like spell-struck people, watching with a mixture of horror and fascination. At the end the red dragon won. It bit through the neck of its adversary, which Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 35 fell down out of the sky and struck the earth with the sound of something much larger than it appeared. Then the victorious red dragon flew down and breathed fire from its mouth, utterly consuming the body of its adversary. Then, apparently satisfied, it flew off to the South. Silence fell and seemed to go on for a long time. We stood there amid the smoke and stink of charred flesh. Then the child stepped forward - suddenly no one wanted to restrain him or indeed come to near him at all. I saw Maugant with open fear on his face and even Vortigern looked shaken. “ You have seen that everything is as I foretold”, the boy said. “Now hearken to this. The red dragon betokens the Pendragon line, and the sons of King Constantine. The white dragon betokens you, lord Vortigern. Like it you shall perish in flames. The red dragons will become the lords of Britain and prepare the way for another who shall be the greatest king this land had ever seen.” As we stood there around the broken hilltop, the boy held out his hand to his mother and together they walked away. No one tried to stop them. As soon as I could I packed up my equipment and left the place. Afterwards I heard how Vortigern retreated deeper into the mountains and how he tried to hide from the young princes. He even managed to build a fortress of sorts - though it was of wood not stone. There, eventually, Ambrosius and Uther caught up with the tyrant and set fire to the place. Vortigern perished in the flames just as the boy had said he would. After that Ambrosius became king, and the rest is history. But I have never forgotten the events on the hill. I heard that soon after they began to call it Dinas Emrys, the fort of Emrys. I never knew the name of the boy until then, but by then he was already being called by another name - Merlin. Yes, he was Merlin Emrys, and I was witness to his first great prophecy. I hear he made many more thereafter and that they came true as well. People say he is the greatest wizard ever to walk the earth, and for myself I think they may well be right.

© John Matthews, 2020

36 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Wanna sell some books? No thanks! By John Mair I put on plenty of events in no staff to ‘person’ any book stall London and Oxford. Many and signing. And Blackwell’s? No of them are in essence book response at all to my email invite. launches. In my experience, So Simpson, a packed church and no dealing with mainstream books for sale. A few enterprising publishers and book-sellers folk brought their own copies for varies from the adequate to John to sign. He did, the plain bloody awful The whole pubisher/book-seller The excuses for publishers not arrangements when facing with a turning up to sell to audiences of live audience is a conundrum. Any 50+ are specious: they take place in solutions? an evening after ‘work hours’; ‘No John Mair is editor of 33 books Staff’; they cannot get the books published by Abramis and Bite to the location; they need to recruit Sized Books. Latest titles are ‘Oil enterprising book-shops to do their Dorado? Guyana’s Black Gold’ and selling as surrogates…; discounts for ‘Is the BBC in Peril (And Should It attendees? Forget it. Be)?’ both published by Bite Sized The nadir for me was a recent Books in February and March 2020. packed -out event with the eminent Available on Amazon. broadcaster John Simpson of the BBC which I produced in St Barnabas Church in Jericho this January . One hundred-plus booked and attended—a sizeable audience by any criteria— and Simpson is a prolific author with 10+ books to his name. You would think ‘his’ audience would want to buy them. You would think but you would be wrong. I contacted Waterstones who had

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 37 The Moral Map by Liz Henderson I passed a pleasant time that afternoon in bookshops, before walking to the station. I’d long been researching the life and times of Charles Booth who, from 1886 to 1903 created an early example of social mapping: ‘Inquiry into Life and Labour in London’. By means of a colour coding system, street by street and region by region, the level of poverty and social class of the residents was recorded. Charles Booth had been an excellent subject for study in my youth. Now, in retirement I had the opportunity to read and research further into the morals of the Edwardian Metropolis. During a pleasant roam through the second-hand bookshops, I had found a more recent publication about Charles Booth entitled ‘A Moral Map of Edwardian London’ by Thomas Gibson. Jubilant that I had found it I considered it to have been a day of excellent good fortune. I examined the cover’s sepia portrait. Charles Booth, moralist and social scientist. I was as elated as a man of my years could ever be as I travelled home. In prospect for me was a wider knowledge and understanding of this remarkable man. # # #

In the train, I took the book out of its bag, rested it on my lap. For a long while I examined the sepia portrait of Booth, his distant look, pen in his right hand and folded wire spectacles in his left. The crumpled cloth map of London spread on the desk; some well-worn pocket notebooks by his side. As the train pulled into its first stop and before the doors opened, a raucous crowd of schoolboys pressed against the windows. I could see passengers moving into the next compartment, the ‘quiet carriage’. I thought momentarily, of joining them, but considering myself to be of a broader frame of mind and, having always enjoyed the company of generations other than my own, I stayed with my precious book and boisterous young companions. # # #

They burst into the compartment, pushing and jostling. Their school bags swinging and cumbersome. Conversation, limited by a narrow vocabulary

38 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk was composed mainly of the ‘f’ word. I noted too that syntax, never a strong point of the young, was entirely absent. Single words, short phrases, grunts and raucous shouts; all at high volume. There was a rhythm, a frequency of the use of the ‘c’ word. ‘Like’ was scattered liberally offering no impact on meaning that I could discern. I looked for another adult in the compartment. There was none. I swiftly covered the parcel on my lap with my coat. School bags were aimed at heads, scuffed shoes jumped and climbed the seats.A fight developed by the door amongst the dropped litter. The boy beside me turned and smiled. ‘Would you like a sweet?’ He held out fruit pastilles, ‘These are my favourites.’ ‘That is really kind of you, thank you,’ I replied and, by way of introducing more of a civilized social interaction, I asked, ‘Which school do you boys attend?’ ‘St Peter’s in Deacon Street.’ ‘Ah yes, used to be a Grammar I think.’ Their blazer pockets pictured a crest and the school’s Latin motto. Interesting… it took me but a few moments to translate; ‘Honour. Respect. Service’—good principles all, for the aspiring young. I turned to my book and my young companion, to his magazine. ‘Here, what do you think of these?’ he asked me, holding out a full-page colour photograph. ‘Big aren’t they? Do you like tits?’ Without, I hope, any sign of outrage I said, ‘Well, they are certainly very big, but ...’ ‘But do you like them? Wouldn’t you like to give them a squeeze?’ ‘I can’t say I like or dislike them. To me it seems degrading for the young lady concerned. ’ The boys sitting nearest to me had fallen silent during this exchange, but now they burst into shouted laughter. ‘Degrading, degrading,’ they chanted and fell on the magazine, tearing all the images of breasts out, displaying them on the seat opposite mine. When the train pulled into my station I walked speedily out of the train, taking no notice of the jeering boys inside. # # #

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 39 By the fire that evening, a port in my hand, I was gloomy. I turned to my new book. Charles Booth had devoted his life to the improvement of living conditions, education and morals of his age. It was his belief that the first step in achieving this aim was to know where there was such a need within the City. With this knowledge society could provide the necessary housing, health care and education for its citizens. In his day he wrote that every member of society had a moral responsibility to assist with this cause, in whatever way they could. I gazed long into the fire and imagined how the Edwardians would have responded to those boys on the train. In our society, self-preservation and fear took priority it seemed. Citizens no longer felt duty bound to instil the higher moral values of the past. A pity! I rested my head against the antimacassar and as I drifted into sleep. I heard again the boy’s voice, ‘Do you like tits?’ And there they were, wafting and bouncing gently before my eyes; fulsome and enhanced in my dream by a black lace negligee. I awoke with breasts on my mind… . Not something that had happened to me for many a year. But for all that… quite a pleasure.

© Liz Henderson, taken from her first collection of short stories ‘The West Façade’ To be published by Anglepoise Books, £8.00.

40 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk her to marry him. According to the Frideswide: story, the princess escaped capture, by rowing along the River Thames, Who and and then by hiding deep inside a forest. When Algar finally realises where is she? he has been defeated by a power The often forgotten story stronger than himself, he returns to of Anglo-Saxon Oxford. Mercia, leaving Frideswide free to serve the local community. And so she established, and was then buried Visitors to Christ Church in, the first church in Oxford, which is Cathedral, the Museum of now Christ Church Cathedral. Oxford and the Ashmolean, may encounter the name of During her life, Frideswide was Princess Frideswide, but very associated with various miracles. few local residents seem to After her death, the miracles seem know her story. to have continued, and soon her burial site attracted increasing To remedy this situation, I decided numbers of pilgrims. By the Middle to share the story of Frideswide Ages, thousands of pilgrims visited with local children, through a her shrine each year, and an annual picture book. The Bodleian Library Frideswide Fair was held in her agreed to publish the book, so that honour, with a procession through Frideswide’s adventures could be the town. The Cathedral still holds an retold in a visually appealing and annual service and pilgrimage in her accessible way. honour. So, who is she? Born in the late 7th And where is she now? This is one century, she was daughter of King of Christ Church’s curiouser and Dyddan and Queen Safridda, rulers curiouser mysteries. It is accepted of this part of Wessex. Her name that she is buried inside the means ‘Great Peace’ and she is our Cathedral, but the exact location city’s original founder and patron of her whereabouts is unknown. saint. During the religious quarrels of the Her tale of resilience, courage, and Tudor Reformation, the bones of kindness, is triggered off by the the princess sometimes had to be unwelcome attentions of a pagan hidden, to be kept safe. Finally, st ruler in neighbouring Mercia, called Elizabeth 1 decide that the bones Algar, who was determined to force of the Catholic saint would be mixed Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 41 with the bones of a Protestant in several local churches in a stained woman and buried together in a glass window or as an icon. secret location. But Frideswide can Finally, thanks to generous support still be seen in and around Oxford. from Bishop Steven Croft, the As well as the many images of her Hamilton-Rees Trust and the Friends inside the Cathedral, she can be of the Cathedral, she is also now found on the Town Hall’s Civic shield, to be found in Oxfordshire primary on the Bishop’s crest, and on various schools, where it is to be hoped, buildings. She is depicted in stone on through the picture book, her the Old School in Gloucester Green, story will continue to inspire future and in the Old Schools Quadrangle generations. of the Bodleian Library. She appears

The Princess The Princess Who Hid in a who Hid in a Tree Tree by Jackie Holderness, illustrated by Alan Marks, is published by Bodleian Library Publishing at £12.99 hardback. ISBN: 9781851245185

Jacqueline Holderness Illustrated by Alan Marks

42 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Kamal D Lathar Writer & Artist Kamal D Lathar is writing fantasy thrillers for kids, self-help books for adults and will be bringing out an adult comedy in the near future. He is also an artist, which to him is another way of telling a story in a different medium. To quote his words, the finished product is 99% perspiration and not inspiration. He is of the opinion every story captures a distilled essence of learning, an encapsulated moment of life. Stories are there to make you question and explore from the safety of your armchair.

The Changeling Saga is penned to be six books in total, trying to capture and reconcile his ideas and thoughts on life, death, God and demons, the afterlife and beyond. These are his interpretations that the key to life is right before us but we have to work hard to see it.

His self-help book is a journey of discovery about the causes of inner conflict, the erosion of confidence and mistranslation that are everywhere, every day, and in every life.

www.kdlathar.com

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 43 How European Art Deco found its way to the Indian subcontinent in the 1930s Ray Foulk and Caroline Foulk (authors of Picasso’s Revenge)

Extraordinarily, in 1929 Paris, embarked upon a spiritual journey to Jacques Doucet, the highly revered unravel the mystery behind the couturier-collector, young Spanish artist’s most powerful installed an original and controversial work, and indeed, Sui Dynasty Buddha this work of Cubism is statue adjacent to unquestionably the most influential Pablo Picasso’s painting in modern history – the monumentally singular 1907 work which accelerated scandalous brothel Modern Art into abstraction – so painting Les fundamentally changing the look of Demoiselles d’Avignon. Doucet, the twentieth century West. Picasso’s outrageous picture was the cornerstone of Doucet’s ‘Temple of Art’, robustly guarded by the sixth- century marble Shakyamuni Buddha. The eccentric collector revealed his 1929 Temple to only very select, special visitors. Among the privileged oft-proclaimed ‘Prince of Paris’, was few to mount

44 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk the glass and enamel staircase was Roché was something of a master- Yeshwant Rao Holkar II, the newly fixer and through his good enthroned Maharaja of Indore. connections Holkar was fortunate Youthful and westernised, Holkar enough to gain access to the Doucet had been educated in England at Temple in Paris. Coincidentally, it was through Roché that Jacques Doucet was introduced to Pablo Picasso in the first place, back in 1914, and before that, he acquainted the inventor of Cubism with Henri (le Douanier) Rousseau, which led to the famous ‘Rousseau Banquet’. Holkar II, the 14th Maharaja of Indore (and destined to be the last), was amazed and inspired by Doucet’s spectacular array of Western art in synthesis with original objects from Maharaja of Indore Holkar II, painted by the East and in which the language Bernard Boutet de Monvel, 1930 and vocabulary of non-European art Charterhouse and Christ Church was luxuriously imbued. Works by College, Oxford. While still only 21, the most eminent designers of the he toured Europe with his mentor, a epoch had been commissioned to close associate from Oxford, Henri- produce unique items for the Doucet Pierre Roché, the French art dealer, project. In fact, no further editions writer and author of Jules et Jim. items were allowed to be made for

Doucet Studio, principal salon, Paris, 1929. Sofa by Marcel Coard, circular table by Eileen Gray, paintings by Henri Rousseau, Pablo Picasso, Amedeo Modigliani, Georges Braque and Georgio de Chirico, sculpture by Gustave Miklos, crystal doors by Réne Lalique, other furniture by Pierre Legrain.

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 45 a Modernist parrot cage. He also became the leading innovator of sumptuous Art Deco book bindings for the Doucet Literature Library.

ABOVE: African-inspired low table by Eileen Gray. BELOW: Lacquered table by Eileen Gray for Jacques Doucet, depicting classical chariot riders, c.1925 Doucet Studio ground floor entrance with In the post- glass, enamel and steel staircase by Joseph War era of Csaky, Paris, 1929. Side table by Eileen Gray, rug by Louis Marcoussis, and bronze sculpture the early by Constantin Brâncusi. twenties, anyone else. Eileen Gray, the Irish when once Architect working in oriental lacquer again art was in Paris, created four major pieces being turned for Doucet while Pierre Legrain on its head, pioneered a unique strand of African it was in this library that Doucet inspired works of art, from cabinets, employed some of the leading chairs and rugs to clocks and even young Surrealists as librarians. Chief

Doucet Studio, Cabinet d’Orient, Paris, 1929. Lotus Table (“Buddhist altar”) by Eileen Gray in centre. 46 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Upper vestibule, Doucet Studio, Paris, 1929, showing Pablo Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon 1907. among them, André Breton, the so- end of the principal axis with Eileen called ‘Pope of Surrealism’, became Gray’s masterpiece in glossy, yew- the collector’s principal art advisor. green lacquer, the ‘Lotus Table’. It was Breton who negotiated Just as the statue was mounted on the purchase from Picasso of Les a plinth of lotus petals, the imagery Demoiselles d’Avignon, which had of the exotic flower predominated in the table design with its four legs fashioned as lotus stems and ivory-white blooms. Reflecting the Lotus Sutra, the table was readily perceivable as a ‘Buddhist altar’, serving to further moderate the scandalous subject matter and imagery of the principal painting. The exquisite purity of the lotus Lotus Table (“Buddhist altar”) by Eileen Gray. plant, thriving in the filthiest part of subsequently inspired his employer’s the swamp, is advanced in Buddhist Temple of Art. teaching as a metaphorical lesson for In addition to the Sui Dynasty human life. Buddha, the iconic brothel painting In all, Yeshwant Holkar was suitably was confronted at the opposite impressed.

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 47 “Do not accuse me of exaggerating Modern European design was when I tell you, very simply, that my scarcely new to early twentieth two hours at your house were among century India, not least because the best that I have spent in Paris Sir Edwin Lutyens had laid out the and France, even in Europe,” the architecture of New Delhi – albeit maharaja wrote to Doucet after his in a manifestation of English neo-

ABOVE: Manik Bagh.Madhya Pradesh. Architect Erkart Muthesius, 1930. RIGHT: Entrance hall, Manik Bagh Palace. Architect Erkart Muthesius. Carpets by Da Silva Bruhns visit. “Those precious memories I will classicism. With equal, if not greater guard jealously and keep forever,” impact was the proliferation in going on to tell his host that his Indian cities of Art Deco department comments and tips had been no less stores, apartment blocks and movie valuable. theatres. This Hollywood-inspired Holkar was profoundly affected by version of Deco had a long reach Doucet’s artistry, so much so that he around the globe. But on the more then fully embraced the fashionable refined domestic scale one would identity of the Collector himself. He need to refer to the maharaja’s returned to Madhya Pradesh to build radical Palace in the principality of Manik Bagh Palace in the European Indore, Madhya Pradesh. Art Deco style. Manik Bagh was a landmark in He brought with him a second Western influence in 1930s India, notable avant-gardist he had met at with the contents described by Oxford, the radical German architect the Musée de Arts Décoratifs, Eckart Muthesius, son of Herman Paris as one of the most important Muthesius, the renowned Arts & private collections of Modernist Crafts architect and of Bauhaus furniture and decorative arts in the fame. world.* Furniture by Emile Jacques

48 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Ruhlmann, Louis Sognot et Charlotte the Doucet collection had been sold. Alix, Eileen Gray, Le Corbusier and In both the Doucet and the maharaja the architect Muthesius himself, sales, on the strength of their adorned the palace. Carpets were impeccable personal provenances, designed by Da Silva Bruhns and record-breaking high prices were metalwork by French virtuoso attained, contributing significantly silversmith, Jean Puiforcat. Sculpture to Art Deco’s propulsion into the was commissioned from Constantin realms of high-end collectables. Brancusi. Meanwhile the Indian Jacques Doucet had been inspired Prince and the Maharani Sanyogita by Buddhism and the East, Pablo were painted by Bernard Boutet de Picasso by Africa and primitivism, Monvel and photographed by Man the Maharaja of Indore by Doucet Ray. himself. In this mix, and by virtue of Sadly, the glorious endeavour did their quest for supreme achievement not endure following the tragic early in the arts, all three became giant death in 1937 of Sanyogita. But in icons of their age. the post-war era a celebrated sale at Sotheby Parke Bernet, Monaco in *The recent exhibition at the Musée de Arts 1980, the treasures of Manik Bagh Décoratifs, Moderne Maharajah, un mécène were dispersed. It was a landmark des années 1930. sale reminiscent of another eight https://madparis.fr/en/about-us/exhibitions/ years earlier, at the Hôtel Drouot, current-events-1322/musee-des-arts- Paris, when items of furniture from decoratifs/modern-maharajah/

Holkar’s study in Manik Bagh with desk and shelving unit in Macassar ebony by Emile Jacques Ruhlmann, chairs by Frères Luckardt and carpet by Da Silva Bruhns. Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 49 Picasso’s Revenge, the historical novel by Ray Foulk and Caroline Foulk (Medina Publishing, 2019) chronicles the story of Jacques Doucet and his problematical ownership of Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’ Avignon, and the collector’s explorations into not so much how, but why Picasso made his epoch-changing move in 1907, effectively inventing Modern Art.

50 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk RAY FOULK & CAROLINE FOULK

N THE EARLY 1920’s, immaculate gentleman, Jacques Doucet descends into the world of anarchist art, the occult and the dark turmoil of his past –involving the death of his beloved Madame R. A disastrous journey leads the couturier and patron of the arts to the celebrated bohemians of the city, including IMax Jacob, André Breton and Picasso. When troubled Doucet acquires the world’s most dangerous painting it causes him to hack at the root of Picasso’s darkest secrets, unveiling modern art’s incredible genesis. And It started in 1968 as a The 1970 Festival. For the first parochial one-nighter. A time, the organiser delves into the year later it ballooned into history, revealing the arguments a massive gathering. that raged at both local and Numbers sky-rocketed as national level. His inside story devotees flocked to the concludes with the parliamentary Isle of Wight from around battle to stop the Island event and the world, to pay homage the attempt to ban all open air to rock’s poet laureate, festivals nationwide.

RAY FOULK - renowned curator and author on French Art Deco masters and twentieth century decorative art, has also written on the 1960s counterculture and rock festivals. As an award winning environmental architect, Ray lives and works in Oxford, near his four grown up children and grandchildren. Medina Publishing Surbiton, Surrey, KT6 7HT www.medinapublishing.com CAROLINE FOULK – author, teacher, artist and poet has often worked in partnership with her father Ray, promoting many exciting projects in www.picassosrevenge.com environment and architecture, including co- [email protected] producing Blue Planet ‘Eco’ Days for schools and writing the multi-media stage play, Destination Picassos Revenge Spaceship Earth. Caroline, mother of three lives in Oxford with her husband and youngest daughter. Tel: 01865 552463

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 51 Sara Banerji

Sara Banerji, author, sculptor, artist and creative writing teacher, is a well-established figure in Oxford’s literary world. As well as writing her own work, she teaches creative writing and hosts writers’ discussion groups. Sara’s voice is described by critics as ‘original and highly imaginative’ ‘entertaining’, ’bold’, ‘punchy’, ‘exciting’, ‘gripping, fluid and confident’. She is widely acclaimed as ‘a very gifted storyteller’. For more information, including details of Sara’s creative writing classes, and to purchase books, paintings and sculptures visit www.sarabanerji.com

52 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 53

A family is in turmoil one

unbearably hot summer in Beijing. Dreams, superstitions, and some weasels all play a part as three generations navigate their way through very unsettling times.

Illustration © Weimin He He Weimin © Illustration Oxford-based writer Elisabeth Hallett Published by Anglepoise Books, lived in Beijing for many years and Oxfordfolio returns frequently on 北 family visits.

www.mousewolf.co.uk 京 www.oxfordfolio.co.uk A Beijing Story

54 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk VA RI HOS AD RY PU

From the pen of Korky Paul, spellbinding illustrator of magic, comes his most famous character Winnie the Witch and her long suffering cat, Wilbur. www.winnieandwilbur.com Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 55 Windows 2019 by Katie Harrison

The sun rises over the mountain revealing two huge crevasses which plunge out of view. I imagine myself on its peak, baking in the warm light. I check the time, 12:03. Four hours left. I turn my face back to the mountain opening a packet of Ryvita and spill crumbs over my keyboard. An email pops up, URGENT CHANGES PLZ READ. I ignore it and play a round of Candy Crush. Joylessly swivelling in my chair, I look out across the pigeon grey cubicles. Each one has an illuminated window and no escape. Scrawled across a whiteboard someone has written, THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX. Stabbing my sad salad repeatedly with the blunt office fork, a reduced aisle tomato flings itself free from my grasp and splatters out-of-date seeds across the screen. I open my desk drawer to find a packet of wet wipes. After polishing the letters, S O D O F F, I turn to see if the IT department have surfaced from the pub before smearing the screen with small streaks of satisfaction. A queue of high-street suits is forming by the fridge, in turn, they plunge their hands into the midst of rotting chaos to remove identical Tupperware containers. The rancid pong that only a three-week-old-half-tin-of-supermarket-tuna could produce wafts towards my desk, I turn to open a window only to remember there are none. I swivel back towards the mountain on my computer screen and open Google. The cursor waits. Ticking. I type... directions to the closest mountain. 69,000 results. I click one. A new window jumps out at me, LAST MINUTE DEALS TO THE MOUNTAIN. ONLY 2 SPACES LEFT. BUY NOW OR MISS OUT. My mouse runs across the screen. In bigger flashing letters are the words, ONLY 1 SPACE LEFT. 73 OTHER PEOPLE WATCHING THIS DEAL. Right. This is it. I’m going. Sod this place. I want to be free. I click. Pay and check the time, 12:35. The next train leaves in 45 minutes. I grab my bag, opened packet of Ryvita and the cheap hand cream I got from my secret Santa three years ago. I ponder at my desk plant. So sad. So limp. You’re coming with me, I whisper. Taking away the only life in the room, I leave. My boss is too busy playing Candy Crush to notice. At the station, I buy a one-way ticket to the summit. As my desk plant and I wait for our train in the cafe, I see the mountain, this time hanging on a wall. It is 56 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk illuminated. Biblical. It calls me. Do you want milk with that, love? On the train, I sit at a table and place my desk plant beside me. Nibbling a Ryvita I put on my headphones and select the Gladiator Soundtrack. The cinematic strings swirl around me as the drums synchronise with passing trees. Boom, branch. Boom, branch. Boom, branch. I stare through my reflection in the window towards the approaching mountain on the horizon and for a moment, I could swear my plant was waving. When we alight the train, the wind begins to roar. Up, up you go it whooshes. I don’t care that the puffer-clad passersby are staring through their sunglasses at the girl in the office suit. I turn my face towards the mountain and climb. I climb until my heels no longer hit hard ground but squidge into marshmallow snow. My plant quivers in delight. Behind us, a trail of Ryvita crumbs marks our path. I tell stories about our new life where there are no screens. No emails. No notifications. I decide I will write invitations to parties. Cook using actual books. Wake up naturally and we will both have sunlight. When I reach the top, I am almighty. The world is empty except for a group of Chinese tourists. Placing my plant onto the snow, I lunge my heels to the opposite corner of the summit and howl into the air. Nothing can conquer this feeling of freedom, the wires and wi-fi of modern living broken free. In abandoned joy, the wind slapping my face, the sun turning me salmon pink, I fumble in my pocket and instinctively reach for my phone. I can’t wait to put this on Instagram.

Previously published in The Surround New Year Album on Bandcamp https://the-surround.bandcamp.com/album/the-surround- new-year-album Katie Harrison is a 33-year-old writer living and working in Edinburgh. She is also an advertising ‘creative’ and sometime ghost writer. Her short stories have been published in magazines such as Shooter, Mycelia and Open Pen. In 2017, she received the British Council’s nature writing scholarship and became aware of how underrepresented young, contemporary female voices were within this creative form. She has recently been awarded a Ph D place at Edinburgh Napier University for short story writing.

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 57 Life Writing: How you can begin by Sylvia Vetta

Memoir writing is something that when the wall was up. She described we can all do while life as we knew how during WW2 a Canadian tank it shuts down and there is time for accidently on purpose got lost on reflection. Over the past two years its way to Elsfield and knocked the I have talked to lots of community wall down! Abingdon resident Bert groups about the importance of life Branker was born in Barbados and writing. I’ve been thrilled to discover had a fabulous Windrush generation that many who came to my talks story to tell. I also cast away the have started writing. talented and passionate director During the ten years I spent writing of the choir Trevor Cowlett. His 120 castaway life stories for The was a moving personal story of Oxford Times I was privileged to overcoming agoraphobia brought on write the lives of inspirational by bullying when he was a sensitive people like the legendary Sir Roger teenager. We are each of us unique Bannister, folk royalty Peggy and all have great stories to tell. So Seeger, Chris Patten the Chancellor how to begin? of Oxford University, Icolyn Smith I am a novelist and the novel gets of the Cowley Road Soup Kitchen the reader to walk in someone else’s and Sir Andrew Mc Michael of the shoes. That is what you should aim Weatherall Institute of Molecular to do - get your reader to walk in Medicine which among other things your shoes. Memoir is not about works on finding vaccines. When starting at birth and going year by I volunteered to write the history year through your life. If you can of Kennington and District Choir achieve a memorable story that including in it thirty mini life stories way you are a better writer than I anticipated that the experience me. I suggest you start with a vivid would be less interesting. Although memory and write it down. Leave it the stories in I Love You All were for a day and come back to it. Then different they were not boring. For describe the people involved and example choir member Christine the place where it happened. Use Ravenscroft was born in Cutteslow the senses - colour, touch, sounds, 58 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk smell and taste to make it come (Author, speaker and a founder of alive. www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk ) I spent three years interviewing the www.sylviavetta.co.uk artist Qu Leilei for the background http://www.facebook.com/ to Brushstrokes in Time. Each month sylviavettawriter we would begin where we had started the previous month. Why? We discovered that if you recover a memory it is like skimming off the cream. When you return to it more detail will have floated to the surface .Best of luck with your life writing.

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 59 Why Join a Writers Group? Why might you think about time went on, the group found it joining a writers’ group? One preferable to meet in members’ answer could be that writing houses rather than the formal can be a lonely business. atmosphere of the Union. The Joining a local group is a first such meetings took place in great way of making writing- Jericho in the home of Jane Gordon- minded friends, and receiving Cumming and her mother, Barbara. their support and advice to To give people a greater chance of help advance your writing being able to read, membership was career. restricted; anyone wanting to join had to already have a basic standard The Oxford Writers’ Group (OWG) is of writing. This meeting format we believe the oldest in Oxford. Its remains in place today, along with inception dates from 1983 and over plenty of encouragement mixed with the years it has helped numerous mugs of tea, coffee, and homemade writers to fulfil their dreams of cakes! publication. It began when two Over the years the OWG has been Oxford writers, Jo Clay and Tony chaired by some marvellously Horwood met on a writing course inspired and talented people, most and realised that there were no recently by the wonderful Linora writers’ groups in Oxford. They Lawrence. Under her quiet and decided to change that fact, and set tactful leadership, the OWG has about contacting all the writers they gone from strength to strength. knew and encouraging them to join It was Linora who introduced the the OWG. group to the late Colin Dexter, who The first meeting took place in became our great supporter and the Oxford Union. The format was unofficial patron. Linora died in quickly established of members January 2020 and will be greatly taking it in turns to read aloud missed. about ten minutes worth of work It was during Linora’s chairmanship for constructive criticism. They that the OWG set up Oxpens, our gave themselves the motto ‘Writers publishing arm, and we commenced working towards publication.’ As 60 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk writing and then publishing The years ago. Sixpenny Debt and other Oxford Published current members include: Stories. This was the first of our Crime: Ann Granger; Fiction: Liz five successful anthologies of short Harris, Mary Cavanagh, Sylvia Vetta, stories, all of which are set in Oxford, Heather Rosser, Barbara Hudson, or in the surrounding countryside. Rosie Orr, Margaret Pelling, Jane These discussions about your work Gordon Cumming; Children’s are extremely valuable and not fiction: John Kitchen, Chris Blount, something you are likely to be able Jane Stemp, Sheila Costello; Non- to have with your friends and family, fiction: Gina Claye, Sylvia Vetta, unless they happen to be writers Heather Rosser, Mary Cavanagh. too. It will vary from group to group Successful past members as to exactly how often members of the OWG include: Crime: can read, and for how long. It is Andrew Pucket, Veronica Stallwood; important to check what the form is Fiction: Linda Taylor, Catherine Fox; with the organisers before your first Non-fiction: Helen Rappaport. meeting. Some groups will welcome For more details about the Oxford beginners, whilst others, like the Writers’ Group, our anthologies, OWG, prefer everyone to have some to purchase books by current and years of writing experience behind associate members, or to contact us, them, whether as a published writer, please visit or as someone who has taken various www.oxfordwritersgroup.co.uk writing courses. Joining a group is a commitment; not only do you have Angela Cecil Reid of the Oxford to be prepared to have your own Writers Group (OWG) writing discussed, you must also be prepared to join in discussions about the work of other members. Lists of local writers’ groups can be found online, or possibly through your local library if you are lucky enough to still have one nearby. What happens however, if your searches bring up nothing? One answer is that you might decide to start your own group, just as Jo Clay and Tony Harwood did all those

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 61 Jackpot Jetty Book review by Radmilla Ray Summer in Goa and Detective Arthur Chupplejeep is on holiday with his on-off fiancée Christabel in spite of the fact that he cried off the wedding a month before it was due to take place. She has not quite forgiven him, although she does admit to herself that she loves him. They are now staying in the little lakeside house that had belonged to Chupplejeep’s adoptive mother and expecting to have a quiet and peaceful time together. Of course, that doesn’t happen. Just as they arrive Chupplejeep’s childhood friend Dilip Mendoca informs him that a body has been found in a boat and as a detective with a formidable reputation Chupplejeep should be involved. The dead man is Ranjit Bhobe, a boatwalla who rowed visitors that the killer be unmasked. Talika is around the lake. Although the local also comforted by Sneha Dhanjeet detective Vitek Kumar is reluctant who runs the local retreat. Christabel to admit there could be anything signs up for sessions at the retreat suspicious about Ranjit’s death and there encounters several people and would prefer a finding that who have possible connections to the death was caused by Ranjit’s Ranjit. And there is Vadish, a local drunkenness, as is his widow Talika gangster who is under instructions whom Chupplejeep thinks is not from his boss to eliminate someone quite as grief-stricken as she first . . . But murder is perhaps a step too appears to be although his daughter far for Vadish. Roshi is distraught and determined A number of lively and interesting

62 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk characters appear in this third Reprinted with the kind permission contribution to the Chupplejeep of Mystery People series in which the author portrays www.mysterypeople.co.uk Goa which, although nowadays an integral part of India, has its Purchase the Kindle or paperback own distinct culture and cuisine edition from Amazon now. (particularly important for Chupplejeep and Christabel), https://amzn.to/2XSatD7 arising from the lengthy Portuguese colonisation, where members of different religions live in harmony. Recommended.

Marissa de Luna is an up-and-coming young author with a passion for writing, travel and adventure. Marissa grew up in Goa before she moved to Oxford but her time spent in Goa has always been an inspiration to her. On a recent trip there, in awe of the tranquility and charm of the rural villages, she conceived the idea of Detective Chupplejeep. Under the Coconut Tree is her third novel. It is the first book in the lighthearted Detective Chupplejeep series

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 63 Book Launch

Gad’s Army is a wartime, supernatural speculative fiction novel by New Zealand author and journalist Drew Bryenton. Published by Oxford eBooks under their sci-fi-cafe.com imprint, it’s available now in eBook format on Amazon, and later in the year in print. We present a complete chapter here, exclusively in the Oxford Indie Book Fair magazine. 64 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Three - The Glorious 27

Everything - chips included - was served up in a great steaming underground hall with mismatched antique tables and chairs and a crowd of bustling figures, all in uniform. Huge lights shone down from on high, illuminating a room the size of a football pitch and teeming with... well, Eddie supposed they were all people. Some were just more conventionally people-shaped than others. Here walked the visibly strange, like the man all covered in bandages or the tall, thin woman who wore sunglasses and carried an open black parasol indoors. Others were simply odd-looking because they were in uniform at all - men who looked like college professors and circus performers, strongmen with arms like bags full of Christmas hams, ladies ranging from one or two pointy-hatted witches to what Eddie’s mum would have called ‘oldest professionals’, and a few more who looked like Eddie’s mum herself - that is to say, little and old and probably the kind to bake scones at the drop of a slightly frilly hat. Then there were things like Reggie the Minotaur. The bark-skinned, winged, scaly, two-headed, horned, cloven hoofed, multi-coloured, transparent, slimy and in one case actually-on-fire ones. All of them were in the neat olive-green kit of the armed forces. Even the man in a turban with a thick Cockney accent who’d served Eddie his lunch, sitting-cross-legged in the air as he commanded a fleet of flying spatulas. Oddly, it made him feel a bit better. Even if things had gone very, very sideways, he was still in the starched, slightly itchy embrace of the Army (capital A); the Big Green Machine which ate paperwork and farted bugle calls and existed solely to remove Nazis from Europe wholesale. Compared to being in a foreign country, being given a state-of-the-art warplane, and being shot at by Germans, whatever was happening to him now seemed almost explicable. It was Military. Which meant there would be official forms, shouting, nonsense, the possibility of several cups of hot sweet tea, and, in the end, probably some Nazi-removal involved. All Eddie had to do was obey orders, not get killed, and… for some reason keep his boots shiny. This, it seemed, was a keystone strategy when it came to kicking Hitler out of power. Eddie sat, and ate. Copiously. The pile in front of him was comprised of the most fearsomely thick and heavy dishes ever devised by the British school system, yet he attacked it all with the force of a steam shovel. It said something about Section M’s mess hall that nobody paid much attention. In between chewing and swallowing, he watched a silk top hat bob through the crowds. Everybody knew Major Monkston. There were not that many actual salutes thrown his way, but there were a lot of significant nods, winks, nudges and clandestine little hand signals as he pushed through the commissary, saying his hellos. This grand circle route lasted until well after Eddie’s plate was licked clean.

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 65 “They all think I’m going to tell them more than they need to know,” he confided, as he hustled Eddie out through a side door and into a pale green corridor. They pressed themselves back to the wall as an electric cart came pinballing past with what seemed to be an orang-utan at the wheel. “But mum’s the word, lad. The big plan is coming together nicely, and now...” here he cuffed Eddie playfully on the shoulder. “Squad 27 has it’s other heavy-hitter! Won’t the General be pleased?” Eddie had no idea if the General would be pleased, but he nodded and smiled in any case. Hanging on to the fact that there was a General, and he was in the clutches of the Army, and that he was neither mad nor dead... well, it kept him putting one foot in front of the other. Until they reached his first assignment. This turned out to be a good one, because he was ordered to get a good night’s sleep. Major Monkston showed him to a wood-paneled corridor lined with what looked like railway sleeper cabins, and were about the same size. One of them already had a little cardboard label affixed to the door, with the name ‘Weatherfield’ written in small, precise block capitals. Miss Golightly, he presumed. “The alarm goes off at 0600 hours, soldier. For now, you’re carrying the effective rank of Private in Section M, but in the field, to the norm-os, you’ll be considered a Lieutenant. Don’t try actually shouting at Sergeants, though, because Doctor J has better things to be fixing than broken noses. When the alarm rings, I’ll expect you to be dressed and ready to go in ten minutes. Report to briefing room 12 for your new assignment. And Eddie... private Weatherfield?” He stopped with one hand on the brass doorknob, looking into the tiny room. There was a new uniform laid out on the bed, including a pair of round-framed dark glasses. “Sir?” “Well done today. Most of ‘em have what our American friends would call a ‘bit of a freak-out’. They must build ‘em tough in New South Wales.” “New Zealand, Sir. The long curly one east of Australia. And yes.” He met the Major’s twinkling gaze, remembering that he owed the dapper little bastard a kick in the plums for that golem nonsense. “Yes, they do.” He was out like a light before he’d even opened the little pamphlet on his pillow - cheerfully entitled ‘So you think you’re either mad or dead?’ - and deep in a dreamless sleep before he’d even gotten both boots off. 0600 Hours rolled around horribly fast, as it is wont to do in both civilian and military life. The jangling of the alarm clock made Eddie think, for a moment, that he was back home in the high country. Then he remembered everything. The information slammed into the front of his brain like a great iron filing cabinet falling from a considerable height, and he looked down at his one bare foot and his one booted one, frontal lobes gently fizzing. Ahhh well. Nothing for it. Let the Military take over for a while, and see where all this was leading. The power of routine should keep the screaming little voice in his skull quiet, at least until he’d had some breakfast... Eddie found a nice new uniform in the room’s tiny closet. He found the mandatory boot polish and brush. He remembered to put on his new dark glasses before he went off

66 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk out the door in search of somewhere with a sink, his brand new Section M toothbrush (marked - type three, human, male, soft bristle) clenched like a dagger before him. The bathroom was empty. Eddie brushed his teeth and looked in the mirror, not knowing exactly what he hoped for. He let the glasses slip down his nose an inch, and saw that red-and-yellow eye staring back at him. He didn’t quite know what to think about it. I mean, we all believe we’re destined for something different, right? How else do you convince a whole nation of people to pick up guns and go out into a wide world where other whole nations are shooting back? You have to be convinced that you - the one watching all this unfold, the important one - are destined to be missed. Destined to miss the dysentery and syphilis and punji stakes and big explosions and downright suspicious tuna sandwiches. It’s a story we tell ourselves. Now, Eddie Weatherfield had some proof that he was right... He was also late. A quick check of a map on the wall outside the bathroom, and Eddie was off and running. Briefing room 12 was surprisingly far away. He stumbled, tripped, pelted and apologized his way through the mess hall, scooping up a half-eaten plate of porridge as he ran. He swung aboard a little electric cart and hitched a lift, leaping off and leaving an empty porridge bowl behind him. And he arrived outside the oak-paneled door of the briefing room just in time to see Major Monkston checking his watch. “Twelve minutes thirteen seconds. Though I do notice you’ve polished your boots. Very military. A word to the wise, though, if any of them are in our general vicinity...” He leaned in, eyes twinkling. “Here in Section M we care a lot less about shiny footwear than we do about punctuality. Come on. The rest of them are already here.” He opened the door and ushered Eddie through, into what looked like a very small but well-appointed picture theatre. In the half-darkness, a row of mis-matched heads turned to look at him. “Come on, come on!” muttered the shadowy figure at the front, a stooped and bent silhouette wearing what appeared to be a pointy hat and a dress. Another witch, Eddie supposed - and this one was definitely Scottish. “We havenae got all day, and the Krauts have just had another night of dragons out there. They needanswers , and we’re gonnae give them to ‘em.” Monkston shoved Eddie down into a great green leather armchair. The figure beside him gave him a nudge, and offered a bag of what turned out to be salted cashews. “This will be our first active assignment in enemy territory,” continued that woolly Scots brogue. “So expectations are high. As you noo, we’ve just been assigned the last member of our squad, a young transfer from the RAF. He’ll be taking the role of heavy- hitter opposite Lucky, so give him a nice welcome, aye?” There was a polite round of applause. Eddie, as is traditional in these situations, was mildly embarrassed. “That means Fyodor gets to scout, and hence the long gun. Percy and Mrs Hazelwood, you’re front and centre. Patience and I will provide supernatural cover, vis a vis spells and suchlike. Monsieur Le Compte, you’ll have the package, and of course serve as our

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 67 medic in the field. Any questions?” A pale hand with black fingernails went up. “Fyodor?” “Do I haff to scout? I mean, Mrs H would be just as good, and I’d really like to get into the thick of it...” Unsurprisingly, the one called Fyodor had a Russian accent you could hammer a sickle around. “Mrs Hazelwood might be able to see where the guards have been, and where they’re going tae be, but you have the best eyesight in the here and now. And I don’t want ye distracted, lad. We’re there for work, not a picnic.” The figure next to Eddie leaned over. He caught a glimpse of ginger mutton-chop whiskers and a tiny little green hat perched atop a huge head. “Sure an’ the bloody vampire would love to bite off some German sausage, you know?” he chuckled. “And I don’t mean for breakfast...” “Corporal Lucky, do you have anything to share with the squad?” it was a question dripping with headmasterly sarcasm. “Just offering the new lad some cashews, Sarge,” grinned Lucky, who Eddie realized was wearing a tiny lincoln-green waistcoat, lime suspenders and little short pants made for a man many times smaller. The rest of him was all muscles and blue tattoos, knotted up like a whole week of bad laundry days. “Then I hope ye’ve brought enoof for...” “Oh aye, oh aye,” said Lucky, just as determinedly Irish as the shadowy figure of the Sarge was Scots. “Anyone else?” A small paper bag was proffered. “Sure and it won’t be like the business with the jellybeans last week, I assure you. That was a terrible, terrible prank to play on the lot of you, and I’ve learned me lesson well.” There were no takers. Eddie leaned in and whispered. “Lucky? Do we all get nicknames, like in some kind of cheap war novel?” The huge Irishman grinned even wider. “Just me. What with being a leprechaun, my real name’s a bit of a mouthful, you understand.” Eddie decided to let that one go, for now. Mainly because the figure at the front of the room had just made a flailing gesture to Major Monkston, who, after a series of muffled curses and pinched fingers, began to play a short black-and-white film. First came a very official looking coat of arms, featuring plenty of arcane symbols and a Union Jack on a shield supported by dragons. Then came a TOP SECRET warning, advising anyone not part of Section M to stop watching now, go to the nearest pub and drink a whole pint of the nastiest available gin, just to forget the fact that Section M existed at all. A long, long list of regulations and threats scrolled by. Eddie was certain that ‘burning at the stake’ and ‘beheading’ were in there amongst all the fine print. Now came the good part. Eddie munched back a handful of Lucky’s cashews, on the principle that you never know when the next snack is coming, during a war. OPERATION POSTMASTER Said the screen, in flickering monochrome. The Scots shadow produced a long pointer,

68 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk and whacked the words for emphasis. “Right, you horrible arcane lot. This is the village of Saint Mal-de-mer, on the coast of Brittany. Up until not so long ago, it was full o’ nasty French fishing boats, cheap wine, dodgy seafood restaurants and the obligatory men on bicycles carrying large bags of onions.” A picture of a small, antique seaside town flickered across the screen. It looked like the kind of place which existed solely to produce novelty tea towels of itself. “Now, of course, it’s full of psychopathic Germans, including, we’re told, a crack unit of Hitler’s occult investigators, the Black Sun, led by this scallywag - Ubergruppenfuhrer- magischekriegseinheit Hans Schprinkler.” A severe-faced middle aged man with half his head shaved bald, and tattooed with runes. A uniform heavy on the leather, silver skull buttons and big swastikas. Was Eddie surprised to see that he wore a monocle engraved with a pentagram? Not in the slightest. “Now, our old pal Herr Schprinkler will be here – “ a map wobbled into focus – “at Le Chateau Mal-de-mer Chronique. Our job is tae deliver a wee present to the town, in the form of two dead bodies. Percy, you know the rules. No chewing!” “Frightfully sorry about that last exercise, Sir,” came a very, very upper-class voice indeed. “Won’t happen again!” The Scotsman pointed to the back, to Major Monkston. “If ye’d be so kind as tae continue?” “Body A, that is to say, the first stiff, is that of a boilerman from the merchant steamer Lady Argyle,” said the Major. “He died last week after ingesting a very dodgy tuna sandwich. Tragic. However, he is the spit and bloody image of this man, Nazi secret agent and all around bad egg Heinrich Salzmann.” This picture was of an unassuming and tubby little man in a black sweater and massive cola-bottle spectacles. “Herr Salzmann is currently helping us with our investigations as to why he was trying to break into the top-secret aircraft design department at Thackeray Hall. His double, here, is going to be horribly burned in an accident, but he’s being equipped with all the right tattoos to make him look just like Salzmann. Even the very distasteful one of a famous cartoon duck playing the tuba. Now...” there was a prolonged fit of coughing from the stage, and the hunched figure produced and lit a corncob pipe. “Yes. Body B, that is to say the second cadaver, is actually a poor lad who tried to clean his rifle while it was loaded, in basic training. He’s getting a bit of a post-mortem promotion, though, to the rank of Captain. In the Intelligence Services, no less. For the benefit of Operation Postmaster, he’s being renamed Philip Sidebottom. Our job is to get these actors in place, and make it look like the following...” A map of Saint Mal-de-mer blurred into focus. “We’ll go in by boat, masquerading as French fishermen. You will all be issued bobble hats, striped sweaters and false mustaches for this purpose. Connor will summon a right pea-souping blinder of a fog as we reach the port, at which point Patience will put all their dogs to sleep with a handy cantrip. Under cover of fog, Fyodor will ascend the steeple of the parish church, here - and make sure nobody from the Chateau comes

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 69 down the high road to assist. That is, until our two heavy hitters here, along with Percy and Hazelwood, bust into the tavern and really give the local garrison the old ten bells of shite. At this point the Count will bring the bodies in, and Mr The Beige will conjure a suitable conflagration. Patience will tangle up the authorities so that they reach the old pub just in time to realize that a crack team of plucky Brit commandos have tried to stop poor old Salzmann from coming in from the cold. On his person will be plans for a radical new aircraft design, allegedly deployed by the RAF in the past few days. A type of plane armed with very, very powerful flamethrowers, and code-named the Wessex Dragon.” Eddie raised his hand, tentatively. “So... we’re going to use magic to convince the Germans that our side isn’t using magic?” “Exactly,” puffed the figure on stage. “Eeeh, Monkston, ye’ve brought us a quick learner this time! Lad, who else can we trust to make sure the old Third Reich don’t take magic seriously? Schprinkler and his scunners at the Black Sun want Uncle Adolf to give them money, and power, and resources. But thankfully, Der Fuhrer is more interested in tanks. Every time we use magic to stop the Nazis, we have to convince them that we didn’t, and that it doesn’t really exist. Otherwise the Black Sun will have their way, and we’ll be in a magical arms race. We could end up back in the dark ages, nailing horseshoes over our doors and putting out cream for the bloody Fae.” The film clattered and whirred to an end. The lights came up. And Eddie saw the rest of the elite warriors who made up Squad 27. “I’m not one for speeches, ye ken, so here we are. Eddie Weatherfield, the glorious 27th. Odds, sods and various bods of the 27th - Eddie Weatherfield, ex RAF, ex New Zealand, ex bloody Norm-o.” He may have gasped. It was possible that the bits of his brain responsible for believing in things were shut down for a second, hastily re-wired, and then shocked back into action. Lucky was indeed a leprechaun. A seven foot tall, rail-thin leprechaun who resembled nothing less than a ginger Abraham Lincoln. What he’d taken to be a huge head was actually the most impressive set of mutton-chop whiskers in all Christendom, framing a face with a many-times-broken nose and eyebrows like orange caterpillars. Mrs Hazelwood was a round little old lady wearing an army uniform and a floral headscarf. She carried a raffia basket almost bigger than she was, which contained, among other things, an immense crystal ball. Percy was grey-green and gruesome, noseless, one-eyed and obviously long dead. His uniform was from the Great War, complete with a tin tommy helmet, and he smiled and waved with a hand that was mostly stitches. Fyodor, on the other hand, was all style. There were little added touches to his army fatigues which made him stand out, even here. His long black hair was tied back with a red ribbon that managed to look anything but girly, and his grin showed more than a little bit of fang. The man he’d heard called ‘Monsieur Le Compte’ may have been dressed in olive

70 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk green, but he also affected the huge powdered wig of a seventeenth century dandy. He actually sketched a little bow, causing unseen things to clink and rattle inside that mass of billowing white horsehair. The one who caught Eddie’s eye, though - and no surprises, considering - was Patience. Eddie might have lied about his age to join the air force, but this curvy, pale and dark- haired girl looked to be only a little bit older than he was. Even in a severe, no-nonsense military uniform there was the definite suggestion that she should in fact be wearing a black velvet dress and lots of skull-shaped jewelry. Her eyes were just slightly too large, just slightly too violet, and definitely just slightly too fixed on his for a moment, before she turned away, smiling enigmatically. Which left the figure standing alone by the screen, puffing out a veritable cumulonimbus of tobacco smoke. “New lad, Saint Germain, a word, if you’d be so kind? The rest of you, bugger off and stop staring. We’ll meet for equipment check at 1800 hours.” Now, in the light, Eddie could see that it wasn’t a witch at all. It was the other kind. Though he couldn’t quite bring himself to lump this five-foot-tall, crook-backed little Scotsman in with the likes of Merlin. He was wearing a kilt and sporran, boots which looked to be hewn directly from stone, an army-issue cardigan rattling with medals, and a tartan pointy hat, bent backwards in the middle so that it looked like the fin of a rather drunken shark. The obligatory long grey beard came down to his belt, where the end of it was tucked in. It had, he noted, a woggle in it. “Connor of Anstruther. Also known as Connor the Beige, ye ken? Last of a very, very long line of wizards, so I didnae get the same amount of height as the ones at the front of the queue.” The apparition held out a hand like a knob of preserved ginger, all lumps and leather. Eddie shook it. “Eddie Weatherfield. I’m, ummm...” “Oh, Monkey-boy there told me all about ye. The liar. Lucky, though. And now some daft old Saxon bag of bones has gone and put some dragonfire in your bonce. Typical!” Anstruther went up on tip-toes and pulled Eddie’s dark glasses down. He made a little huffing sound which could have signified anything from approval to bad gas. “Just like old Bjarni Shield-Biter, eh? Whatever happened to that old sod?” Major Monkston came down the stairs from the projection booth, with a look on his face like he’d just accidentally swallowed a lemon. “That was in the last war, Connor. We dug him up on the Orkneys remember? Well preserved chap, for his age. Got blown to bits by Turkish artillery in Sinai.” “Bet they weren’t expecting an undead viking, though!” cackled the Scotsman. “Still, a live one must be better. Smells better, anyhow.” he turned back to Eddie. “You ready for this, lad? Fighting on the ground is different from fannying about in planes...” The Major moved smoothly between them. “I’m certain Private Weatherfield is quite capable. After all – “ and here he gave Eddie a pointed look – “All you have to do is follow orders and make sure the bullets miss. Two simple tasks, correct?”

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 71 Eddie found himself nodding. “Saint Germain,” said Anstruther, addressing the massively wigged dandy. “Two bodies is a bit of a weight. You sure you’ve got this?” The strange, powder-faced man rummaged with one hand inside his headpiece, his face lighting up with a smile. “Never mind me, guv,” he said, in a quite incongruously East-London accent. “Got a potion here that’ll make em light as a feather. Two on a handcart and bish bash bosh. We’ll ‘ave ‘em down the pub in no time, while old peepers here puts a few Nazi’s horizontal-like.” The little wizard nodded. “Right, then. Monkston, I’m sure you have lots to do, what with the Treaty being signed in a few days. That writer of yours must be right proud to be following in the footsteps of Willie Shakespeare.” Major Monkston looked slightly pained, as if someone had just trodden on his immaculate wing-tip brogues. “Less said the better, old chap,” he stage-whispered, following it up with a vaudeville smile. “And good luck tonight, all of you. I’m certain they won’t know what to believe in once they see you in action. Or don’t, of course. What with this being a top secret, covert kind of mission and all...” Monkston and Anstruther shared the kind of dry little chuckle that teachers, regional managers and army officers often engage in after a not particularly funny joke. “The two of you, fall out! Saint Germain, I’m sure you have lab work to be getting on with. And Weatherfield - I’d head down to the firing range and armoury if I were you. We’ve got some special kit for you that you might want to try out before horrible lads in coal-scuttle helmets start yelling ‘Achtung!’ at you from the shadows. As he said, it’s a whole different world from...” (and here Monkston cleared his throat with malice aforethought) “fannying about in planes.” Eddie and Saint Germain left the room as Anstruther produced a survey map from his sporran and unfolded it over the table. He and Monkston were already arguing by the time the door closed behind them. “Good to have you on board,” said the Count, extending a pale hand smothered in gold rings. Eddie noticed that he’d stitched a lace cuff to his army fatigues. “All the lads are keen to know, right? What’s your party piece?” Eddie shook, put more than a little off balance by the steely grip he found his fingers in. “Party piece? Oh, you mean my... umm. That. The old supernatural thingy. I suppose we all...” “Oh yes. Me, I’m immortal,” said the Count. He delivered the information in the same tone someone else might announce they had hayfever. “But not like old Fyodor. He bloody hates it! An immortal Count who ain’t a vampire! I dabble a bit in alchemy, too, which is a great help on the battlefield.” Eddie didn’t have the heart to tell him that alchemy was pretty much rendered obsolete by a guy called Newton, some centuries before.

72 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk “So, what do you do?” Eddie shook his head. “I don’t know what they’re calling it. I’ve got a funny eye.” He pulled his glasses down, to a low whistle from Saint Germain. “No kidding! What, you get poked with some kind of magic stick? Some old three- stooges nonsense? Wait! I’ve got it! You looked right at a basilisk during an eclipse, right? Peed on a witch’s vege garden? Close?” “It was a big old dead viking with a dragon, actually. He might have saved my life. But it seems that when I get angry...” “Oh, like Doctor J’s old man! Right, right. Hence you’re a heavy hitter, like our lad Lu c k y.” “Who’s a leprechaun. A little magic man from the Emerald Isle who guards a pot of gold...” “Well, more like a big lanky bastard from Dublin who guards a bottle of Jamesons, but you get the idea. When he hits something, it stays down. Up to and including small buildings.” “But... Lucky?” Saint Germain patted him on the shoulder. “He reckons Pádraig mac an Phríomhfheidhmeannaigh ar an Gclaoch Airgid a Chodlaíonn Faoi na Cnoic Agus a Fhillfidh in am an Chontrála Mór Chun an Spéir a Roinnt le Toirneach is a bit of a mouthful, right? Look, don’t worry. It’s going to be weird for the first few weeks. Months, even. Me, I’ve had a couple of thousand years to get used to it, and it’s even freaking me out a little. Now, the armoury’s that way. If you want to catch one of those little carts, just whistle as high as you can. The gnomes aren’t much good in the bass register.” Saint Germain set off down one arm of a T-junction, leaving Eddie stranded looking down the other. All the corridors in the Labyrinth of Kew looked quite the same, which was, perhaps, the nature of labyrinths. “Count!” he shouted. “Saint Germain! What do you mean two thousand years?” The big-wigged alchemist turned back with a rueful smile. “When someone who claims to be the Messiah does a miracle right in front of you, son, don’t be the guy in the crowd who yells ‘I can see the loaves and fishes up the sleeves of his robe’. Simple advice, freely given. Wish someone had told me...” And with that he reached a corner, swung on board a speeding gnomecart and was gone. Eddie felt the madness tickling the edges of his mind. He was all alone under Kew Gardens, in a secret base full of wizards and monsters, and in a few hours, far from evading the front lines, he’d be sailing into occupied France with a seven foot leprechaun, a posh zombie and someone who claimed to have heckled Jesus Christ as company... Right then. The Armoury. There was nothing like some old fashioned Army-brand insanity (like learning the safety protocols around weapons of mass murder) to make the little details blur into the background. One foot in front of the other. Or, in fact...

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 73 Eddie put two fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistled, so high and loud that even his Dad’s grizzled old drovers would have been proud. An electric cart squeaked to a stop in front of him. When in Rome, or so they said. It wasn’t until they were halfway down the corridor that Eddie remembered. Rome was full of Axis soldiers too, these days...

* * * Published by Oxford eBooks under its sci-fi-cafe.com imprint. Available now on Amazon https://amzn.to/35luy6M

74 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Ink painting and self-salvation by Weimin He Time flies like an arrow College education in China in and I have unconsciously particular has, over many years, been dedicated to art for been more like a production line. many decades. When I look Avoiding the strictures of realism back, I find that most of the has, for me, been the first step directions I had taken in art towards redemption. practice would not have led In China, realism still has a strong me to my destination. Ink influence given its unshakeable painting is for me a means of official status. It still continues to personal visual expression. limit invention and has constrained The materials used in these generation after generation of works are traditional Xuan students in setting up criteria paper, brushes and inks. It is predicated on realism for university less important to me whether entrance exams or art awards. I am the works are regarded as convinced that if this cannot be being in a traditional or changed, creative art will have no contemporary form. future. The only hope, therefore, was for me to discard all the ideas The process of creation is also a and techniques I had learned in process of reflection. I have been re- the past, to go back to the starting considering what I have learnt over point. I felt that without the courage, the last few decades and have come to repudiate my previous artistic to question the artistic concepts I identity there could be no new start. formed during my years at college. I feel that the college education Over the years, I have been I received has been an obstacle unconvinced by an art practice which preventing me from finding my own can appeal to both a refined and a direction in art. Similar educational popular taste. If it exists, its aesthetic models and cultural backgrounds appeal must be superficial and its will inevitably produce similar artistic essence mediocre and flattering; I ideas and artistic practice. believe that real beauty originates

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 75 from the depths of the soul and paintings did I start to understand whilst it may be less attractive in its the true meaning of these words. appearance, it will have a greater My search for personal salvation impact on the depth of people's should have begun much earlier, feelings. but I am grateful that I have now, Free expression in art is not the at least, taken the first step. I enjoy invention of modern day western a kind of self-exile, exploring, nations. The philosophy of Daoism wandering and experimenting in has long advocated the revealing of the unknown, in the free world of human nature. An individual’s life art and I thoroughly enjoy it. The is bound by a variety of intangible work presented in this exhibition has rules; laws, moral standards, social resulted from my evaluation of art, customs and taboos yet the most life, oneself and history. We live in terrible of all the constraints is the an increasingly dangerous world and bondage of thought and soul. This our future is uncertain. I recognise bondage stifles imagination and that these works are still immature, creativity. but they flow from my heart, the Abandoning my old approaches to images carry my temperature and art has inevitably caused loss and my pulse. I am fortunate to have pain. I asked myself ‘what is my true embarked on this journey towards nature’ – ‘what is the source of my self-redemption, a journey I had creativity’? The direction of one’s dared to think of but felt I lacked the art practice is not determined by courage to start. planning but by practice. I found that the process of consciously seeking my own approach, simply prevented me from finding myself. Only when I gave up this search did the self unexpectedly emerge. Zen talks about ‘all beings possessing the nature of the Buddha’. There is no necessity, therefore, to seek specific inspiration from the outside world. My postgraduate mentor, Professor Quan Xianguang, reminded me of this more than 30 years ago, but not until I had produced a number of ink

76 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 77 The Cracked Jug by Shakira Morar

The girl dips her jug into the river, Whoosh goes the water. Sweet thoughts are her friends.

She lifts the jug and embraces it, As a mother with her baby would. The drops are her lifeline.

Carrying the jug, she takes many steps To find herself in her home. The four clay walls are her shield.

She pours the water for her brothers, Gripping the handle tightly. Those drops are their lifeline.

Her mother lifts the jug To set on the shelf, next to the stove. Her mother preserves their lifeline.

Her father returns from work, Concern pulling him from the present. Her father reveals her reality.

78 | Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk Headington Schoolgirl Shakira Morar won The ‘Poetry for Peace 2016’ Competition. This was part of the award-winning, Arts Council funded collaboration between Oxford poet Jenny Lewis and Iraqi poet Adnan al-Sayegh (both featured in this collection) aimed at building bridges and fostering greater understanding between English and Arabic- speaking communities. Adnan and Jenny worked with Oxford’s Ashmolean Museum, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, and the Poetry Society encouraging more than 60 11-to-17 year olds to produce poems for a competition on the themes of heritage and peace. The overall winning poem, chosen by Judith Palmer, Director of the Poetry Society, was The Cracked Jug. http://movingpoems.com/2017/03/the-cracked-jug-by-shakira-morar/

Oxford Indie Book Fair 2020 | www.oxfordindiebookfair.co.uk | 79