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   Matylda Laurence - Photographer

All Photographs by Matylda Laurence

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Small to Medium - by Ryta Lyndley, who also went onto write and publish a new series of children’s books, the first entitled

Tales of Brick Kiln Brook and Dingle Ditch.

Time to Make Melodies - by Jennie Wilson, a children’s illustrated song book with original lyrics and integrated audio cd. The songs are played and sung with the children at Jennie’s Melody Maker Groups - times and places can be found on her website.

Please contact Jennie and come along for a morning that is full of fun and music.

Trains and Animals (Trains 4 Kidz) working with James Garratt this book opened up a new genre - an interactive children’s quiz book containing photos from the vast train library at Milepost92½. By means of questions the children’s answers will help them to learn about trains from a bygone era, and people and places as far away as China.

Available on Amazon Kindle Edition.

The Enchanting Tale of Swapley Dale by Elise Belcroft is an illustrated children’s book. Writing for children, Elise wants them to imagine a place where animals work and live. Where swapping and recycling is better than throwing things away! How two grey mice, Oscar and Olivia get out of town, fly away and get into more trouble.

And what happened to the Tudor mountain? Well, after a considerable makeover she still sits alongside the B660 between Bedford and Kimbolton. Surrounded by quiet fields, contented and well loved, she gives succour and solace to those who want fine dining and a truly warm welcome.

The Plough at Bolnhurst.

It had never been my intention to publish books, but in life many plans are altered by the people we meet and the places we go. Whether consciously or not most of us have desires, some achievable, others just staying as daydreams. Time plays an important role too, as does opportunity and purpose. How did I meet my first author? Well, I certainly hadn’t planned even going in that direction, literally! That universal line,‘once upon a time’ still is the best opening; setting the scene for plot lines to develop, words to become events and plans which turn us down unexpected roads. And so it happened to me.

Offering to do a good turn for someone, driving along the B660 to Kimbolton, I turned into a wide gravel yard. The old willow tree, its sagging green tendrils seemed comfortable in its own space. Banging the iron knocker, and shouting to a closed transom window, a chirpy lady with red hair eventually peered out from under Tudor eaves, inviting me inside.

Each room we passed through was dull, closed up, clamped down in misery. Webs wreathing windows, sticky, curtains spun when laughter hung alongside. The spiders long gone unable to bear the cold, numbness commiserating with abandonment and desperation, hit me face on. Unseen webs woven from human sinew were waiting to be unearthed. Like the child’s boots found cemented in stone, a charm to protect, but failed to do so this time.

Sitting either side of the ancient fireplace we watched as one flame took hold, then another. Words, held back for years in the frozen heart opposite melted, ice chunks throwing themselves into my lap. The book was born, I adopted it, but the moving of this Tudor mountain must be shifted she said. Like a toddler touching boundaries, I pushed forward, leaving with assurance that I would sell the Plough, type the manuscript, format the text, take the photos, publish the book. So, once upon a time it all began with…