Re: Warriors of Love
 

A brief quote from my novel Margaret Again:

“So we come to the final part of this morning’s arithmetic problem,” Miss Miles announced. How much prize money would an artillery captain take from the sack of the Surrey city? Margaret – what’s your answer?”

“Sixteen and eight pence, miss,” I said without confidence. “Remainder three.”

“Remainder three, child?”

“Yes, miss. It wouldn’t divide exactly… or I don’t think it would. I had a remainder of three, miss.”

“And what kind of coin do you think remainder three is, you surprising girl.”

“I don’t know, miss.”

“Do you think it possible that your answer is wrong, Margaret?”

“Yes, miss. I expect it is, miss.”

Re: Warriors of Love
 

This is only tangentially connected with The Warriors of Love in a "by the same author" way, but this morning I started work on what is intended to develop into a book about school uniform. It should be profusely illustrated, and, if anyone has suitable pictures in the form of jpeg files, I would be interested to see them.

Anyway, here is my draft for the beginning of the book:

“I have had a telephone call…” our head teacher began. It was always I have rather than I’ve, and telephone rather than phone. It was most certainly never some busybody has phoned me, but that was the sense of the thing.

“I have had a telephone call…” at morning assembly betokened that a pupil of the school had been reported as engaging in some piece of minor hooliganism, or perhaps merely buying chips at lunchtime. We were permitted to take school dinners, or go home for lunch, but not to patronise the fish and chip shop a hundred yards from the school gates.

“I have had a telephone call…” translated into English as some busybody has phoned me. The words filled me with dread. I was under suspicion. My supposition was that the culprit would be identified sooner or later, but, until that happened, I would be watched more carefully, my every fault duly noted. Looking back, I suspect that, after the lecture on right conduct at morning assembly, the matter was taken no further. Probably the teachers dismissed it from their minds more quickly than I did.

And who, or what, was responsible for my unease over the ensuing days? The misbehaving pupil, obviously. Also the interfering busybody who phoned the school to report the matter. Not least, our school uniform was responsible.

Clearly, the busybody had not recognised the culprit’s face, otherwise the complaint would surely have been addressed to the child’s parents (most probably mother). The uniform created the connection exemplified in phoning the head teacher of a specific school.

We have the first of several reasons for children to dislike school uniform, it serves to demonstrate a link that, I imagine, even the best behaved pupil would sometimes prefer to be overlooked. Perhaps I am a cynic, but it seems to me that this is also a reason for head teachers to dislike school uniform. I imagine our head, weary with responsibility for the behaviour of a schoolful of children, thinking: Oh no, not Mrs Knebworth… what does she want this time?

Parental dislike of school uniform was other, and largely financial. Raised in Southend-on-Sea, our local school outfitters was a shop called Meakers. It’s gone now, but I’m sure that in my schooldays (the 1950s and early 1960s) every town in England had its equivalent to Meakers. Acceptable substitutes for Meakers’ blouses and skirts could be bought elsewhere, but not blazers or headgear. Not even, I think, girls’ summer dresses. These were gingham, and might, perhaps be run up by an industrious mother on a sewing machine. But they needed to be embellished with exactly the correct white trim. Meakers, then, had a monopoly in significant, indispensable, items of uniform. Only the more naive amongst us will fail to recognise the connection between monopoly and prices.

With children, head teachers and parents all given reason to dislike school uniforms, it is scarcely surprising that in my teenage years (the early to mid 1960s) the consensus of opinion seemed to be that youngsters would not be obliged to wear them for very much longer. I heard people say that, in another ten years, school uniforms would have ceased to be. Indeed, for some while, they appeared to be on the decline. Yet, a decade into the twenty-first century, more children seem to be so-clothed than half a century before.

When my business takes me on to the streets or public transport not long after the schools debouche their cargo of students, I see very few children out of uniform. The details of the uniform often seem very similar to those of my schooldays. Both sexes are frequently to be seen in blazers adorned with the school badge, items I assume to remain expensive, long after the disappearance of Meakers, and other such shops. Most of the girls still wear pleated skirts.

Perhaps the most conspicuous casualty of the years from the mid twentieth to early twenty-first century is school headgear. When I was young, boys wore school caps, girls a variety of hats. The most common, in state-funded grammar schools, seemed to be the beret. There are berets that may be worn with an air of Gallic sophistication. The objects sold by Meakers, with a school badge sewn to the front were emphatically not in that category. Quite the reverse, they were an item of uniform universally hated by girls of my generation, or – at least – hated by every girl I encountered. Of course, once out of sight of the school gates, a girl could thrust her beret into her satchel. Even this seemed a risky enterprise: the sort of thing that might conceivably have Mrs Knebworth picking up the telephone.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

A brief passage of dialogue from Margaret Again:

“What did the old miser want, Tuerqui?” Lisa-Louise asked. “From the look on your face, it can’t have been joining him for Solstice dinner.”

“No it wasn’t, thank the goddess, although his guests will include your Uncle Wilfred.”

“A reason to avoid it like the penny brothel pox.”

“There are plenty of other reasons too, mistress, headed by Cornelius Lock.”

“May the Mistresses of Fury stuff his arse with tax evaded gold, until it bursts out of his mouth.”

“Does that mean Merry Solstice, Mr Lock, mistress?”

Re: Warriors of Love
 

"Margaret Again" with its new cover arrived today. The cover looks even better full size on the book than it does in the reduced size reproductions. I'm very pleased with it. :)

On the down side, I've spotted another typo. :(

Re: Warriors of Love
 

I'm very pleased with the new "Margaret Again" cover. It looks much better full size on the book than it does in this reduced size reproduction. I particularly like the stoned look on the unicorn's face.

http://www.ligotti.net/picture.php?a...pictureid=2058

Re: Warriors of Love
 

I have, today, published Odalisque in two volumes. I did so largely to have copies for my own reference, but decided to make them available from Lulu in case anyone else is interested. The volumes cost just £10 each (plus postage).

I don't intend to issue these two books more widely, so they are unlikely ever to be available from Amazon or bookshops.

Volume 2 also contains my early work on Tuerqui Again and a brief (one page) overview of The Warriors of Love as a whole.

http://www.ligotti.net/picture.php?a...pictureid=2071

http://www.ligotti.net/picture.php?a...pictureid=2072

Re: Warriors of Love
 

All of my books, including the Odalisque volumes are listed here:

P F Jeffery's Storefront - Lulu.com

More details of each title may be had by clicking on it, and a preview is available for each book, including the Odalisque volumes.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

My first two books are now available on Amazon:



I'm trying to get them to display better on Amazon.

In the meantime, the books display a lot better here:

P F Jeffery's Storefront - Lulu.com

Re: Warriors of Love
 

Here, for the benefit of the two or three Americans on this site, are links to the United States of America Amazon:



$35.95 sounds like a lot of money. Is it?

Re: Warriors of Love
 

I've just checked how much $35.95 is in real money, and according to the Interweb site at which I looked, it's £24.69. So how come my books are £16.99 on UK Amazon, but £24.69 on US Amazon? :confused: