Posts Tagged ‘Follow Me to Glory’
The 2010 calendar is rapidly filling up. I have over the past month or so been gathering dates for various lectures and author events. The entire list will be posted on my web site soon, but it isn’t complete yet.
The year is filled with exciting events, including book signings, book fairs, talks at various collectors groups and Civil War Round Tables, a photography project at the Gettysburg National Park, a book tour in the United Kingdom (May 1 – 16), and taking part in the Gettysburg Festival (June 18-27). In addition, Civil War Round Tables have asked that I present my most recent talk, “Relax Men, It’s Only the President! – Lincoln’s Approach to Personal Security,” on several dates in 2011.
Follow Me to Glory - The Crimean War
The Gettysburg Conspiracy - The American Civil War and Abraham Lincoln
Crimean Memories: Artefacts of the Crimean War
I’m looking forward to two full years of book promotion, rich with opportunities to talk to folks about the Crimean War, the American Civil War, Gettysburg, and Abraham Lincoln. It appears the most difficult part will be finding the time to research and write the third novel in the Ian Carlyle Series, “The Ear Collector,” and work on publishing an extraordinary diary of a Crimean War Scots Fusilier Guards soldier – a project long overdue.
House in first real snowfall of 2009
This is the first real snow in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, in 2009, and just before Christmas. It is so clean, so beautiful. makes you think of crackling log fires, snuggling warm.
Watching the snow twirl lazily down is mesmerizing, alluring, bewitching, exquisite. Robbie, my Shelty, absolutely loves it … romping about, tossing it in the air, actually lying in it as though it was a soft white blanket. This is always my first impression. I almost hate to walk through the first snowfall because my footprints will mar its tranquility.
Inevitably, the darker side appears, in spite of our good thoughts – slippery streets, accidents, freezing – biting – numbing cold, airports locked in, stores out of food and a snow mound away. As the wonderland abates, I am reminded of a studies of the Crimean War for my novel, Follow Me to Glory. The winter of 1854, and a British army totally unprepared for winter. I described it this way:
No matter how many times he’d been warned, Ian was ill prepared for what he saw when he cleared the connecting trench and moved into the much wider main trench, which formed a “T” with the zigzag leading up to it.
The men were lounging about along the trench, one man up on the fire step every eight to ten yards, his mate resting below. Many of these soldiers had fought next to him at Inkerman, but as he passed among them, he hardly recognized anyone, either by name or that they were members of the elite Scots Fusilier Guards.
Ian’s frock coat was a bit shabby after months of service, and certainly his cloak was a wreck. The only new item he wore was a field service cap given him by Nigel Kingscote upon his arrival back from hospital. However, his worn and threadbare garments were nothing compared to these guardsmen.
Due to the scarcity of water, they were authorized to grow beards, and they were growing thick, long and ungroomed. Their once bright scarlet coatees were faded and torn, with visible patches of every kind. Some cut their high collars off for more freedom. Many cut the swallowtails off to make patches of at least a similar colour for the upper coat. It mattered little, because the coats had faded, turning many an odd brown-purple colour.
Trousers were patched, mud-caked and badly frayed at the bottoms, some with open holes worn through the knees. Ankle boots were in tatters, wrapped in bits of cloth, or strips torn from haversacks, tied with rope just to hold them together. Their wool stockings were either in bits showing above the boots or none-existent.
There were still a few bearskin caps visible. One odd-looking bearskin had been cut open and pulled down well over the ears. The men wore a variety of other homemade headgear, some from pieces of blanket, they ranged from turbans to haversacks pulled down. Others had hand-knit wool caps or stockings over their heads, cutting a hole for their faces. There were forage caps and field service caps, and a very few sealskin caps worn by the newer draft recruits.
Among some of the new recruits he also saw sealskin coats, but most of the company wore their shabby greatcoats over their tunics, wrapped in as many blankets as they possessed. A few had lost their greatcoats and wore only blankets with holes cut in the top for their heads or wrapped round their necks and tucked into belts. The seriously unlucky ones had lost both their blankets and greatcoats. These were merely standing along the trench, shivering in their discoloured coatees around meagre fires glowing from holes dug into the trench side. There was barely enough wood in the trenches to keep the tiny fires alive.
They even found a useful purpose for discarded news journals sent from home or bought or stolen locally, but not as fuel for the fires, as Ian might have suspected. They stuffed the paper as a layer of insulation down their trousers, inside their coats.
For gloves, they wore mittens made from woollen stockings, or wrapped blanket wool around their hands, tied with string. A resourceful few, the company quartermaster having no doubt overlooked them, even cut open the top of their bearskin caps and were using them as muffs to warm their hands.
Ian’s initial impression was that they were drugged or drunk. They looked filthy, vermin-ridden, and were staring into empty space, leaning against the trench walls, weaving slightly, or sitting in the filth at the bottom, not caring. Their scraggly beards were surrounded by long hair poking unceremoniously out of whatever head covering they wore.
Ian was struck by their stone-like, stoicism. They weren’t joking or grumbling. There was none of the expected soldierly banter as he passed through the trench.
Ian’s nostrils cringed at the putrid stench of filth and decay. He saw, with sadness, their sunken hollow eyes, the grey pallor of their skin, chapped and cut lips. Their blank stares reminded him of Peter’s look after the incident at Eton. There was no light in their eyes. The deplorable conditions were sapping them of their energy, their dignity, their pride. They looked like stooped old men, twice – three times their age.
There was only one item of equipment that was spotless and bright. Ian had seen it with Goodlake’s lads, and he saw it again now. In the hands of each soldier was his Minie´ rifle musket, clean, ready and fit for killing. Ian credited this, without asking, to the vigilance of MacGregor. No matter how hard the system beats men like these down, they will still rise up fighting given the right incentive, Ian thought.
Punch Magazine summed it up in one cartoon:
Crimean War Cartoon - Appeared in Punch Magazine
Other Ranks, 47th Regt, prepared for the tenches before Sevastopol
Other Ranks, 68th Regt, winter clothing
Follow Me to Glory - First in the Ian Carlyle Series
The title of the first book in the Ian Carlyle Series is “Follow Me to Glory.” The Crimean War, during which the bulk of the story takes place, was an absolute disaster. There had not been a major war in Europe for 40 years, since Wellington fought Napoleon. In 1854, the British were ill prepared to fight such a large-scale war. Too many of the lessons learned against Napoleon had been forgotten, and Wellington was no longer around. The butcher’s bill for this forgetfulness was paid in soldiers’ lives.
I chose the title because Ian Carlyle’s dream is to follow in his soldier-father’s footsteps and lead men in battle. For Ian Carlyle, as he comes of age, this means to lead men to “glory.”
In that earlier time, and I fear too often today, those who first go to war, and those at home who cheer them on, have this sense that “glory” is out there, a prize to be had if your brave enough, or lucky enough. The reality falls way below this naïve expectation. Warriors know that better than anyone. They know that sometimes you have to fight, but there isn’t a damned thing about it that you can call “glory.”
Ian manages to navigate through some rather horrendous challenges as he grows to manhood. He overcomes these hurdles and evolves into such a warrior and leader, but the story is more about his coming to terms with what glory isn’t, then what it is. Most folks who have been in harm’s way, the soldiers who have to fight the dirty, ugly wars, will explain that truth. In the end, it boils down to kinship with your fellow soldiers, an intense commitment to those in your charge, and plain, simple survival.
Last action of Ian Carlyle before Sevastopol in the Crimea, painting by Peter Culos
I have been asked how I develop Ian Carlyle’s romantic interests, and how I write love scenes. I can tell you it isn’t that easy. In the first draft I wrote of “Follow Me to Glory,” set in the era of the Crimean War, there was no romance. Then several lovely ladies of Gettysburg told me pointedly that if there were no love scenes, not only wouldn’t they buy the book, but no one else would either. I caved like a cheap tent, ran home to my office, and created the sensual and strong-willed Jasmine. The book is much better for having done so. It adds a poignant divergence from the war.
To accomplish the challenge of writing about romance, I first found I had to put myself inside their world – not only Ian’s, but Jasmine’s as well. I was reluctant and somewhat embarrassed to go there, worried what I wrote would be seen as silly or superficial. The dreaded: “His characters lack depth. They don’t seem real.” I had to get past that. ”It is what it is,” I told myself.
Ian likes strong women. I placed Jasmine in a man’s world, especially in Victorian England, managing a drinking establishment with an iron fist, yet with a certain persuasive softness as she deals with unruly customers. She is also worldly, with a mysterious background. I made Ian naïve and innocent by contrast.
As their relationship grows, Jasmine patiently teaches Ian. Translate that to a lovely oriental lady in Japan who taught a young inexperienced seventeen-year-old Marine corporal about the real world over a hundred years later. I found myself becoming more comfortable writing about what I’ve learned of life and romance.
In the sequel, “The Gettysburg Conspiracy,” Ian is more mature, a seasoned veteran on many levels. Jasmine is for now out of his life, although she manages to come back into it for a second time before the first book ends. In this, the second book in the Ian Carlyle Series, he meets two women, both strong, but otherwise with very little in common. One is a specter from his past, and the other a newfound romance. Ian uses the lessons in life taught him by Jasmine with gusto at times, and with a delicate balance between intense passion and gentle compassion at others.
I was reluctant to write romance and love scenes initially, but I can’t deny it – it’s mischievous and great fun!
Will Hutchison
I have so much to talk about right now. In the last several months I’ve published two books, my first non-fiction history and photography book, ‘Crimean Memories: Artefacts of the Crimean War,’ and the sequel to my first historical fiction novel. My first novel was ‘Follow Me to Glory,’ about a young Scottish nobleman coming of age as a man and an officer in the Crimean War. The sequel, ‘The Gettysburg Conspiracy,’ takes this same officer, Ian Carlyle, into the American Civil War as a British observer, who then becomes involved against his will in a plot to assassinate Abraham Lincoln. I won’t bore you with details, but if you want to know more I invite you to visit my web site at www.willhutchison.com.
The book launch for The Gettysburg Conspiracy was on the evening of 20 November 2009, at the Majestic Theater in Gettysburg. It was part of Americas’ Arts “Hear, See, Now Event,” and was called “Cocktails, Conversation, and Conspiracy.” It was sold out, and I believe the folks attending had a grand time – I know I did.
Crimean Memories
Follow Me to Glory - 1st in the Ian Carlyle Series
The Gettysburg Conspiracy - 2nd in the Ian Carlyle Series
