In Memory of Queen Elizabeth II 1926-2022 by Catherine Randall

As you will all know, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II sadly died earlier this month at the age of 96. As a nation, we said goodbye to her at her magnificent state funeral on Monday, and we want to remember her here on the Time Tunnellers blog this week too.

When we’re thinking about the Queen, it can be hard for us to imagine that our lives ever had anything in common with her life. It’s especially hard for those of us who are still children. Most of us don’t live in palaces, or regularly meet Presidents and Prime Ministers. We don’t usually get the chance to thank people who are making a difference to our world by their charity work, or their work for the emergency services - something that the Queen often did. But if we take a look at the Queen’s childhood, we can see that there were important experiences that she shared with other children at the time, as well as things that she continued to share with children throughout her life.

One of the things that she shared with many people during her long life was of course her love of animals, especially dogs and horses.

Not many people will have been given their first pony by their grandfather the King, but lots of children will have had the joy of their parents bringing home a new family dog. This is what happened to Princess Elizabeth when she was seven.

One of her friends had a Pembroke Welsh corgi dog, and Princess Elizabeth wanted one too. Her father, the Duke of York, obviously thought this was a good idea, because one day in 1933 he brought home a corgi as a family pet. The dog was called Dookie, and apparently was very badly behaved, biting both courtiers and visitors, but Princess Elizabeth loved him.

Princess Elizabeth with her first corgi, Dookie

Soon another corgi, Jane, joined the family. You can see how much Princess Elizabeth loved her dogs in this picture from 1936 showing her with Dookie and Jane, and her mother, the Duchess of York.

Princess Elizabeth with her mother, the Duchess of York,

and their corgis, Dookie and Jane in 1936

By this time, in 1936, her beloved Grandpa had died and her uncle, the Prince of Wales, had become King Edward VIII. It was at this point that Princess Elizabeth’s life changed for ever.

Edward VIII wanted to marry an American lady called Mrs Simpson but, even though he was King, the government wouldn’t let him marry her because she had been divorced twice and in those days it was considered completely unacceptable for a King to marry a divorced person. King Edward VIII decided to step down from the throne rather than give up the woman he wanted to marry, and his brother -Princess Elizabeth’s father - became King George VI instead. This was called the Abdication and it happened in December 1936. From this time on, Princess Elizabeth became heir to the throne.

A souvenir of King Edward VIII’s coronation – 

the coronation that never happened because the King abdicated before he was crowned

From now on Princess Elizabeth’s life might have become even less like that of other children, if it hadn’t been for the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939. Like many children, Princess Elizabeth and her younger sister, Princess Margaret Rose, were evacuated from London to protect them from enemy bombing. Although they were sent to stay at Windsor Castle, the royal residence to the west of London, rather than having to live with total strangers, they were still separated from their parents who remained at Buckingham Palace throughout the war. In 1940, Princess Elizabeth gave her very first radio broadcast during the BBC Children’s Hour, addressing other child evacuees: ‘My sister Margaret Rose and I feel so much for you as we know from experience what it means to be away from those we love most of all…’

Princess Elizabeth giving her first radio broadcast from Windsor Castle, aged 14

The royal sisters were not even entirely safe at Windsor – many bombs fell in the area, and they often had to take refuge in the castle’s bomb shelters during an air raid.

Before the end of the war, at the age of 18, Princess Elizabeth signed up for the ATS, the Auxiliary Territorial Service, and trained and worked as a driver and mechanic. Like other girls her age, she was determined to do her bit for the war effort.

At the victory celebrations in 1945, Princess Elizabeth stood on the balcony of Buckingham Palace with her parents and sister, acknowledging the cheers of a delighted and relieved crowd. However, afterwards, she shared the jubilation of the people, as she and her sister were allowed out of the palace to go and mingle anonymously with the crowd. Later, Queen Elizabeth described this as ‘one of the most memorable nights of my life.’  She said, ‘I remember we were terrified of being recognised…I remember lines of unknown people linking arms and walking down Whitehall, all of us just swept along on a tide of happiness and relief.’

Princess Elizabeth’s corgis remained very important to her. On her birthday in 1944 she was given a corgi called Susan. Remarkably, all the Queen’s dogs after this were descended from Susan, who lived to the ripe old age of 14.

Princess Elizabeth with her dog, Susan, given to her on her eighteenth birthday

Queen Elizabeth remained devoted to her corgis throughout the rest of her life. You may have seen her two current dogs, Muick and Sandy, on television on Monday, watching the funeral procession at Windsor Castle.

It was a fitting and touching personal tribute to Queen Elizabeth, the longest serving monarch in British history.

Watch Catherine's YouTube video on Queen Elizabeth II by clicking here

The White Phoenix by Catherine Randall is an historical novel for 9-12 year olds set in London, 1666. It was shortlisted for the Historical Association’s Young Quills Award 2021.

Published by the Book Guild, it is available from bookshops and online retailers.

For more information, go to Catherine’s website: www.catherinerandall.com

Visiting history by guest author Tom Palmer

As well as looking at pictures and photographs, interviewing people, going to museums, watching films, YouTube, historical documentaries, reading book after book to do my research, I also like to go to the place where the book is set.

In the case of Resist that place is Velp.

Velp is small village that has become part of the city of Arnhem in the west of the Netherlands. It is calm and friendly, picturesque and lovely. There are a lot of people on bicycles and gardens with flowers and nice little shops and cafes. You wouldn’t think that one of the most dramatic battles of the Second World War took place on its streets, with ordinary people hiding in the cellars to avoid tanks and bombs and aeroplanes, smoke and fire and blasts and worse.

And, to be honest, it is very hard to imagine war when you visit Velp nearly eighty years later. For research purposes there might not seem much point. But – if you can – it really is worth visiting a place where you are setting a story.

I realised that when I arrived to find myself in Velp railway station.

I was here. In the village where the whole of my historical novel, Resist, is set. Metres from where the book starts at the level crossing where my main character is forced to stop and be searched by a German soldier.

How did I feel?

Thrilled. Excited. Giddy. But I’d learned absolutely nothing new. Not yet.

Not until I found the building that stands where my hero character used to live. Here was my first lesson.

There’s a statue of a girl in the middle of a garden of rosebushes half way up on the main road running north out of Velp.

The girl is in a ballet pose. She looks about fourteen. There is no sense that she was to become one of the most famous film stars who ever lived. But she did. This is a statue of Audrey Hepburn, star of Breakfast at Tiffany's and My Fair Lady.

Standing in front of her statue when I visited Velp was big for me. It reminded me that my book was about Audrey Hepburn, the girl. Resist ends when she is fifteen, looking as she looked in this statue. The statue is in front of the building that has been built where she lived with her mother and grandfather.

That was what the story should be about. A girl who lived in a warzone, who did astonishingly brave things to help frustrate the Nazi occupiers of her home village. A very scared girl who has lost family members in the war and fears she will lose more.

Not about one of the most famous women the world has ever known.

Next, I walked up the road to the edge of the village. I wanted to explore the woods. Probably the most dangerous thing Audrey Hepburn did during the war was to go into the woods, search for a shot down Allied airman and take him food and water and clothes so that he could escape to safety and not be caught by the Nazis.

The woods will look very different today. Perhaps all of the original trees have gone. The Dutch needed to cut down trees in the winter of 1944 to 1945 to burn because the Germans had taken all their coal and other fuels.

That struck me when I was sat in the woods. Imagine if you ran out of fuel this winter. I am sorry to say that many will. How cold would you have to be to go into the woods and chop branches off the trees to keep your family warm, to keep your family alive?

This revelation, for me, is what made me understand that it was good I visited Velp.

I spent hours walking the streets of Velp. From Audrey’s house to the woods. From the hospital where she volunteered to the village centre. From the station to other places she had been to. I imagined in my head that I was Audrey going here and there. How she’d feel. What she’d do. So that when it came to writing the book I had her village mapped out in my head. I had some new ideas from seeing her statue and the station and the woods.

And it taught me that, although the events that Resist is based on were eighty years ago and, although the buildings and trees could all be new and different, history and its echoes is still there if you take the trouble to walk the streets.

Watch Tom's Time Tunnellers YouTube video here

Tom Palmer

 

Tom Palmer is the author of 57 children’s books, mostly historical or sports based. He has won the FCBG Children’s Book Award and the Ruth Rendell Award for Services to Literacy and has been nominate for the Carnegie three times. He lives in Yorkshire with his wife and daughter.

 WEB               www.tompalmer.co.uk

TWITTER       @tompalmerauthor

FACEBOOK    www.facebook.com/tompalmerauthor

The Ice House at Kew - by Jeannie Waudby

Since 1840, Kew Gardens has been a public Botanical Garden. It's now also famous for its Millenium Seed Bank which conserves over 2.4 billion seeds from all around the world, and when the Princess of Wales Conservatory was built a time capsule of seeds was buried under it by Sir David Attenborough - all plants facing extinction. In the 18th Century, these gardens encircled Kew Palace and the White House (now demolished) which were home to Queen Charlotte and George III and their large family. Echoes of the life they led can be seen in Kew Palace, Queen Charlotte's cottage, and in the kitchens.

I've visited Kew over many years and in recent years the kitchens and Ice House have been opened to visitors. I always find the spaces where servants worked and lived more interesting than ballrooms and galleries. The kitchens served the White House so that cooking smells would be separate. Lavish meals were prepared, including cold desserts: ices, syllabubs and jellies. But how did they keep them cold before electricity? This is where the Ice House came in. It's a brick-lined structure covered with earth and grass so that it looks like a mound with a tunnel entrance from outside.

It was built in the 1760s with beautiful arched brickwork above a pit where blocks of ice were packed between layers of straw and sacking. This was the Palace's giant 'fridge'. It was actually very efficient and the ice could stay frozen for months. It's not a new technology. Ancient Romans and Persians used the same system from 1800 BC.

But it was very labour-intensive, so in Georgian times only the very wealthy could afford the luxury of ice-cold drinks and food. In those days the ice was hacked out of the lake in blocks and carted to the Ice House to be packed into the pit. This was an extremely unpopular job and it must have been very hard for workers to keep their fingers from freezing as they laboured in the depths of winter in a place designed to keep in the cold. Then, fetching ice for the kitchen must have also involved cold hard work hacking out blocks and perhaps making them smaller before carting them the 400 metres to the kitchen. This is an image from the information notice outside the Ice House.

By the 19th Century ice from Siberia was brought by canal. It's strange to think of a time when ice had to be harvested and stored now that we can easily freeze it ourselves. Back in Georgian times, it was a natural resource from the winter lake and the colder weather, and the energy used came only from human beings.

Standing in the cold silence under the Ice House dome, I thought what a great setting for a story scene it is, and I used it in the 19th Century book I have been working on. This made me think of this week's writing challenge.

WRITING CHALLENGE Set your story in this brick Ice House. There are two characters inside. They have a wooden cart, an ice pick and a lantern, as well as lots of ice, sacking and straw. But the door is locked - from the outside! This seems like a scary scenario, but it doesn't have to be. You could make it funny, moving or even romantic. What happens?

Jeannie Waudby is the author of YA love story/thriller ONE OF US and has been working on a YA novel set in Victorian times.

jeanniewaudby.com @JeanWaudby

How mining led to the first industrial canals of England – by Susan Brownrigg

The historic county of Lancashire was the birthplace of England’s first industrial canals.

Canals were created as an alternative way to transport coal. In the 1750s coal was carried by horse and cart over poor quality roads. The canals meant coal could be taken by water, faster, easier and cheaper!

The Sankey (St Helens) Canal was approved by parliamentary act in 1757. The permission granted was to make the Sankey Brook navigable, but the engineers instead cut a separate canal alongside the river.

Eventually the canal would run 15.8 miles between St Helens and Widnes, meaning coal could be transported both locally and further afield to salt works on the river Weaver and for use in a growing number of chemical industries.

Canal locks make it possible for barges to climb up high hills and mountains.

The Sankey Canal included broad locks which would allow traditional Mersey flats – a type of sailing barge. The flats had tall masts for their sails, so swing bridges were also needed to allow the barges to pass through.

The Sankey Canal used the first staircase lock in England, called the Old Double Lock. Staircase locks are used where the gradient is very steep.

The Sankey canal closed in 1963, but the towpaths can still be enjoyed. There are plans to restore the route to water traffic again. https://www.sankeycanal.co.uk/

Nicknamed the ‘Dukes Cut,’ the Bridgewater Canal was opened in 1761. 39 miles long, it stretches between Runcorn and Leigh. It does not include any locks, as it is built on one level.

The Canal was named after the third Duke of Bridgewater, Francis Egerton.

The third Duke of Bridgewater, Francis Egerton.

The Bridgewater Canal was the first industrial canal in England that did not follow the route of an existing watercourse.

The opening of the Bridgewater Canal as depicted by artist Ford Madox Brown.
One of twelve murals in the Great Hall, Manchester Town Hall

The Duke of Bridgewater owned a mine at Worsley, but he had two problems: the mines kept flooding and he needed to find a way to make more money.

As a young man, Francis Egerton took a grand tour of Europe, and it is thought seeing the use of canals in France also inspired him to commission his own.

The solution – reached with the assistance of his steward, John Gilbert, was a specially built watercourse which would drain the water away and could be used to transport coal to market.

There would be two elements to the plan – a series of underground canals at Worsley Delph and the creation of the Bridgewater Canal.

The Duke of Bridgewater needed a canal engineer to bring the plans to life. He chose James Brindley, one of the very early canal engineers.

Mr James Brindley

James was a former Millwright apprentice, as a child he had been educated at home by his mother.
When asked by Parliament for a model of his proposed Barton Aqueduct, he dashed out and bought a huge cheese. He then returned and cut the cheese in half, then pulled a long rectangular object out of his coat and placed it across the top to represent the canal!

The Barton Aqueduct, by G F Yates

The aqueduct was the first of its kind in England. It had to be demolished in 1893 for the construction of the Manchester Ship Canal.

The Bridgewater Canal at Worsley ((Photo by Susan Brownrigg.)

At the Worlsey end of the Bridgewater Canal the water is a distinctive orange colour. The mining process meant that iron ore in the bedrock was released into the water. This iron oxide, or rust, was deposited as sludge in the passageways and then passed on into the canal water. Interestingly, the sludge used to be sold as 'ochre' pigment for artists to use in their paint!

Delph means delved or dug place. The site was originally a sandstone quarry. The artwork you can see at the Delph today is a modern interpretation of the crane which was used to lift the heavy stone onto barges.

Worsley Delph and crane as shown in Arthur Young's 1771 book
 A Six Months Tour through the North of England

The Delph is a large canal basin. There, you can also see two tunnels carved into the rock. These entrances lead to a series of underground canals. The canals are on four levels and covered 47 miles.

This subterranean system allowed ten time more coal to be transported than had been possible by road, and the price of coal halved! The underground canal was so tight that miners had to use ‘legging’ to get their narrowboats called starvationers to go through. The miners would lie on their back and use their legs to push the boat along.

The starvationer boats used in the underground canals were just four and a half foot wide.

A replica coal cart made from bronze is another vivid artwork at Worsey Delph. Carts like this were pulled by women known as 'drawers.' 

Young children also worked in the mines. The coals in the cart are engraved with stories telling what life was like for the children working underground in the dark.

The Mines Act of 1842 finally stopped children under 10 from working there.

The replica coal cart by Bronzecast (Photo by Susan Brownrigg.)

When the underground canal opened people came from far and wide to see it. Today it is still a popular tourist spot.

You can find out more about Worsley Delph over on the Time Tunnellers YouTube channel.

Author Susan Brownrigg at Worsley Delph. (Photo by Susan Brownrigg.)

Susan Brownrigg is a Lancashire lass and the author of three historical children's books for ages 8+ - Gracie Fairshaw and the Mysterious Guest & Gracie Fairshaw and the Trouble at the Tower are seaside mysteries set in Blackpool. Kintana and the Captain's Curse is a pirate adventure set in Madagascar.

Susan's books are published by Uclan Publishing. They are available from bookshops and online retailers.

susanbrownrigg.com

@susanbrownrigg

susan brownrigg facebook author page

“Any Old Iron” Guest post by Elizabeth Wein

The garden of my house in Perth, Scotland, lost its iron rail fence in World War II – not to an enemy bomb, but to patriotism. All over the United Kingdom, iron railings got chopped down in parks and gardens to support the war effort. Here's a link to a newsreel from 1940 showing men collecting railings in a London park!

https://www.britishpathe.com/video/park-railings-for-munitions

The idea was that the iron would be melted down and used to make ammunition and armour for tanks and ships, although nobody’s really sure if that happened – there’s a rumour that London’s iron railings were all dumped in the Thames, and I’ve been told that Perth’s ended up in landfill on St. Magdalene’s Hill.

Iron rail fences on our road early in the 20^th century

Parliament’s Hansard report for 13 July 1943 tells us that somebody wanted to know what was being done with all that collected iron. Lord Hemingford commented, “It has been felt that an injustice has been done to a very large number of usually uncomplaining and patriotic people. This question of the requisitioning of railings and gates is rather like eczema; it is not very serious, but it is most confoundedly irritating, and causes a vast amount of bad temper.”

(source: https://api.parliament.uk/historic-hansard/lords/1943/jul/13/requisitioned-railings)

For years, whenever I looked at the stumps of those railings in my garden wall, I thought of them as my house’s wartime scars. What I didn’t realize was that World War II took away something far more tragic from my house than its decorative iron railings. It took away the boy who’d come of age in that house and who’d still lived there when he went to war as a young man, the only child of the couple who lived in that house for forty years. He left my house to go to war and he never came back.

He was a navigator in the Royal Air Force. He was part of a team of “pathfinders,” a dangerous job in which an advance aircraft would have to find and mark an attack site for a bomber squadron, dropping flares in the dark that would light up the enemy target.  On 7 Dec. 1940, he and five other crew members took off from RAF Stradishall in Suffolk in their “Wimpey” – a twin-engined Vickers Wellington bomber. They flew through atrocious weather in the dark to Germany, along with two other pathfinder aircraft, to mark the target for a bombing raid in Dusseldorf. They vanished later that night somewhere over the North Sea – “Aircraft failed to return,” is what the official reports said.

A Wellington crew

(source: https://www.lancs.live/news/lancashire-news/lancaster-bomber-brave-daredevils-who-24064051)

Let me tell you about Chick. (His real name was Charles.) He was a mild-looking young man with dimple in his chin – his RAF portrait is in black and white, but I think he must have been like Kate, his mother, short and lightly built, with brown hair, those amused eyes blue. Robert, Chick’s adoptive father, ran a fishmonger’s shop in Perth, where Chick helped out, but in 1939, with war looming, he joined the Royal Air Force as a reservist.

The road in front of our house in 1934 and 2022

Late in August 1939, just before Germany invaded Poland, one of Chick’s mates who was also a reservist got his calling-up papers. The friend and a few others turned up at Chick’s house – MY house! – at eleven o’clock that night, and they all decided they’d have one last night on the town before they were called into action. Chick drove them from Perth to Dundee where, arriving after midnight, they had a couple of drinks and checked out a couple of all-night coffee stands before heading back to Perth at about three o’clock in the morning.

That’s when Chick ignored a stop sign, was spotted by a waiting policeman, and got pulled over for driving under the influence of alcohol – which apparently he didn’t have a very good head for!

He was fined £10 and given a six month driving ban. He was contrite and honest about what had happened, and solicitor who defended him pointed out that it was Chick’s “first time in trouble”! (Source: Dundee Evening Telegraph, 25 Aug. 1939, page 6).

See my source note there – I got this story from an old newspaper. It’s available online in the British Newspaper Archive. Actually, everything I know about Chick – the details of the colour of his mother’s hair and eyes, the kind of plane he flew, the date of his disappearance, even his nickname – I dug up by accident simply because I just wanted to know more about my own old house.

And in the wider sense, isn’t that the real reason we dig up history – because we want to know more about our own house, our own city, our own people, our own world? To learn from them, to connect to them in their strengths and to correct their weaknesses?

I tell this as a coherent story, as if I knew these people, Chick and his family and friends. But what I know about them I found through scraps, fragments, puzzle pieces that I’ve fit together: RAF war graves memorials, stories and police reports and personal columns in local newspapers, internet queries on ancestry chat boards, wartime bulletins, photographs, voting records, passenger lists for ships and airplanes.

(source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vickers_Wellington#/media/File:See_How_Your_Salvage_Helps_a_Bomber_Art.IWMPST14695.jpg)

Look at that – the scrap metal from his own fence railings may have become part of the Wellington bomber that Chick died in.

All my stories begin this way – finding connections between the ordinary and the extraordinary, between daily life and drama, between the past and the present. I hope this gives you some inspiration for finding your own fascinating connections!

Elizabeth Wein is a recreational pilot and the owner of about a thousand maps; flight inspires her young adult novels and non-fiction. Her best-known book, Code Name Verity, was short-listed for the Carnegie award and became a number one New York Times bestseller in 2020. She has published three short novels with Barrington Stoke, including Firebird, which won the Historical Association's Young Quills Award for Historical Fiction in 2019. Look for her latest flight-inspired historical thriller, Stateless, published by Bloomsbury in March 2023.

Visit Elizabeth's website at https://www.elizabethwein.com/

Twitter: @ewein2412

Instagram: ewein2412

Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein.

The link to my info on the Barrington Stoke site: 

Elizabeth's Barrington Stoke books

Elizabeth Wein: Bloomsbury Publishing (UK)

Andrew Carnegie and his Library Legacy - by Barbara Henderson

I for one visit my library regularly. I was there this morning, in fact, editing my current manuscript. I borrow books, I use the reference section. 

Let’s be clear about one thing: without access to libraries, I may never have become a reader. I certainly wouldn’t have obtained a degree, let alone become a writer. I owe libraries a LOT!

 A postcard of the original Carnegie Library in Dunfermline

A key setting in the manuscript I was editing is the Victorian Carnegie Library in Dunfermline in Scotland. I cannot think of a person with a more significant library-legacy than Andrew Carnegie, the founder and funder of that first Carnegie library, and then, wait for it, over 2500 more around the world!

Andrew Carnegie

Andrew Carnegie was born in Dunfermline in 1835. His family home there was a humble weaver’s cottage, now home to the Andrew Carnegie Birthplace Museum. In 1848 when Andrew was 12 years old, the Carnegie family emigrated from Scotland to the New World - the United States of America.

The young Andrew began his working life as a messenger in a Telegraph Company. Always keen to seek opportunities to better himself, he soon progressed to telegraph operator after teaching himself Morse Code. Later he became personal assistant to the Superintendent of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, rising to the post of Superintendent himself in 1859.

Carnegie was a skilled businessman, investing wisely in a range of industries such as oil and steel. Soon, the Carnegie Steel Company dominated the market in America and morphed into a billion-dollar company – the first company anywhere to do so.

Andrew Carnegie was not only incredibly wealthy, but he hadn’t forgotten his humble roots. His urge to learn had resulted in unprecedented success – now Carnegie wanted to give back by offering the opportunity of a better life to the people of his hometown back in Scotland. The libraries he was able to use as a young man had enabled him to gain new skills and make something of himself. Perhaps it is not surprising that he chose libraries as his vehicle to do good, a pioneer of philanthropy.

To say it in his own words: ‘No millionaire will go wrong… who chooses to establish a free library in any community that is willing to maintain and develop it’.

However, Dunfermline was only the beginning: the following years saw a growing number of free-to-access public libraries on both sides of the Atlantic. Dunfermline’s Carnegie Library was first, opening its doors to the public in August 1883. All it took was an £8,000 grant donated by Carnegie while the rest was raised by taxation through the Public Libraries (Scotland) Act.

I loved learning about the first library for my manuscript, Rivet Boy, due out from Cranachan Publishing in February 2023. The first librarian there was an Edinburgh bookbinder named Mr Alexander Peebles who was chosen from more than 250 applicants and who lived in the flat above the library, aided in his work by a single assistant. More than 2000 volumes were issued on the very first day of its opening. 

The Carnegie library, now combined into a gallery and museum,
still takes pride of place in Dunfermline's centre 

The combination of public money and Carnegie-backed funding proved a popular finance route to other libraries for decades to come, often ornate and impressive buildings like the Central Library in Edinburgh.

Even now, nothing quite beats walking into a building filled with books for me. The smell, the heavy extravagance of knowledge and imagination, billions of letters and words on millions of pages in thousands and thousands of volumes. It’s rare for me to come across snippets of knowledge I hadn’t searched for on the internet, but such is the richness of a library that we can’t underestimate its value – something always, always catches my eye unexpectedly. Libraries almost everywhere are now under threat. I am sure Carnegie would have a word or two to say about that, and so should we.

What was the impression this new library might have made on a young boy, aged 12, just the same age as Andrew Carnegie was when he arrived in the U.S?

We can only guess.  

 

Barbara outside the old entrance to the building

Barbara Henderson is the author of seven historical books for children, six are published by Cranachan, her most recent - The Reluctant Rebel is published by Luath Press. She has won the Historical Association's Young Quills Award for Historical Fiction for Children in 2021 and 2022.

Find out more at barbarahenderson.co.uk