Carol is married and now enjoying retirement, following a long and varied career as a secretary, personnel officer, shorthand teacher and HR Professional. Although having spent most of her working life in London and Kent, she did live and work in Norfolk for several years but missed her son and daughter and two grandsons, so in 2018, she moved back to Kent to be nearer to them.
Carol is a volunteer reader with primary school children for Bookmark, and for recreation enjoys dancercise classes, writing and swimming. She studied for a postgraduate qualification to become Chartered in Personnel, at the University of Greenwich, an area touched upon in her first work of fiction “Celia’s Retaliation”, which follows the adventures of an ill-treated young woman, who leaves her family, becomes involved in the world of espionage and moves to France.
Carol joined the Write by the Sea writing group, based in Folkestone, in 2020 and has since contributed stories to its Anthologies: “Ghosts by the Sea”, “Doorways to the Sea”, and the forthcoming Anthology, “Journeys by the Sea”. She has also written “Dishonour Amongst Gentlemen”, which appears in the “Out of Cinque” Anthology of Stories and Poems about Hythe and Prince’s Parade. All of these stories can be accessed on Amazon and she can be contacted at carolharte516@gmail.com.
In the pipeline, Carol is writing a children’s fantasy fiction entitled “Popple Planet”.
That’s what Dublin means. Originating from the Gaelic: dubh meaning black: linn meaning pool. Dubh linn = Dublin.
Ria has always had a love for stories, possibly because of the culture she comes from. A seanchaí (shan-a-key), meaning a storyteller, has been part of the Irish way of life since pre-history, handing down stories by word of mouth before they were ever documented in text. She learned of this in her early years at school through the stories of mythology. Growing up, she found a passion for stories through movies, TV and books and this has always stayed with her.
Now in her latter years, she is creating her own stories which she loves sharing. These always include some humor, whether it is a novel or short story, her passion for writing is forever expanding. Ria has always had a love of all that is art and craft, which has bled into her hobbies, such as, painting, photography, bonsai, and creating three-string cigar box guitars. Obviously writing is there also. She even studied art and technical drawing as additional subjects outside of her school curriculum.
As a teenager, she was involved in school productions as an art director and stage and prop manager. In third level education, she chose to study Architectural Technology. On qualifying in 1984 she moved to London as Ireland was heading into recession and architectural work was getting slim. The UK however, was shooting out of recession under Maggie Thatcher.
She has lived and worked in the southeast of England up to the present day with no thoughts of moving back to the ‘Auld Sod’. Working with some of the top fifty architectural practices in her career, she has been involved in projects like Guy’s Hospital, Disney’s Offices, London and Smith Klein Glaxo office complex in West London among many others. She currently works in Canterbury, still as an architectural technician, producing the drawings a builder builds from and overseeing works on site.
Retirement beckons in the next few years, however, she will never be bored.
Jane Cottle is retired but not retiring and has had an interesting life which is probably why she has a vivid imagination and enjoys writing.
Her mother ran a music hall troupe so from an early age she was singing and dancing on stage. Her father was a politician so she got introduced to quite a few famous people and appeared several times on television.
At 17 she was offered a recording opportunity by Apple Core, the Beatles recording company but turned it down! She wanted to study and became a teacher instead.
Her first degree was in English from Sussex university and all her working life has been in education, initially in a primary school in London and later at a school for the blind in Kent. Whilst working she continued to study at Birmingham and Canterbury universities specialising in visual impairment, physical impairment and multisensory impairment. She has tutored both Birmingham and Cambridge universities, training teachers to become specialists in visual impairment. Her last post was as an education manager for Kent working specifically with children and adults who were blind or deafblind. In 2011 she won Kent teacher of the year for her work with blind students. Her work with blind people has often inspired her writing because she had to paint pictures with words for them, particularly when describing abstract visual phenomena such as clouds and rainbows.
She has always loved writing and performing and has written several musical plays for schools and also academic texts including one on writing in Braille. Outside of work she has performed in many amateur shows and pantomimes and as a result met more famous people and occasionally appeared on television.
Jane has been married twice and is now a widow. She has one son.
When she retired she completed an open university course in creative writing and joined Write by the Sea and also Shepway writers. She writes for herself as a hobby because she has a head full of words and just has to write them down! She has entered a few writing competitions and has won a couple and been shortlisted for a few. She had two stories in Ghosts by the sea and there will be a couple in the new anthology.
She doesn’t particularly yearn to be a published writer but wants to leave a legacy behind of the thoughts in her head and the person that she is.
After her mother died Jane discovered a treasure trove of poems and plays that her mother had written which brought great pleasure to the whole family. Jane hopes that at some time in the future someone will read her own scribblings and understand her thoughts and feelings about life in the same way.
Happy new year, so excited for our meetings and events this year, we are also coming into our 5th year of Write By The Sea. How quick time goes, I feel we are getting better each year. Our first meeting is Thursday 12th January, see you there. Here are the dates and events so far that we have booked, the rest should be confirmed before the end of the month.
What a brilliant year for this writing group, with so many events and meetings that have all been successful. It was great to have Mićhel Faber visit us and give an excellent talk about his writing. If you have bought his books and want them signed he will pop in and do a signing next year. The workshops have been popular so we will be doing more of those in the new year. We are in the process of getting our events sorted for the year so we can step up our advertising in printed form. The third anthology has been delayed as it is so big, we have over 30 stories this time so editing has taken longer. We are aiming to have it ready for sale in the Spring as I think Travel By The Sea will be a good time to launch. We are arranging a book launch for this anthology so will let you know the date and venue as soon as possible.
We are finished now for this year so have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and see you on the 12th of January at Anna’s at 6pm.
We had a bit of fun last night which ended up in some very good short stories, I love the way they are all so different even when we have the same idea to write about.
We now have our meetings at Anna’s in Folkestone, they have agreed to host us all next year, plus all being well we will be doing the Living advent calendar from their doorway as well.
Our next event will be about book cover photography with Andy Markwell.
Just a reminder that our meetings are always free, we support the hosts by having a drink or food on the night.
Look out for our last event of the year, saving the best until last!
Hope you are all having fun in the sun, that would make a good story, ‘Fun in Folkestone’.
Our events are back at The Hideaway with our group meetings, new dates above as our next guest has covid so I have swapped a couple round. No erotica until November, Jane will be pleased as she will miss it due to her holiday.
We have the lovely Carol coming over from Broadstairs to present a workshop on editing, sounds exciting and I am hopeless at that so looking forward to picking up some tips.
Hope to see you all there as we have a break until the 8th of September. Have a super summer and see you in September. Don’t forget our stories for the next anthology have to be in by the 31st August 2022
When you think about the Grand Hotel and its visitors, who springs to mind? Edward VII and Alice Keppel? Agatha Christie? Think again. What an amazing evening we had with Emre Araci! One thing is for sure – no shortage of inspiration for our next anthology, which is going to be about journeys to from and involving Folkestone.
This talk was made even better by the fact it was held in the drawing-room of The Grand, we are so very lucky to be able to hold our events here. Emre also bought along his gramophone, which was a very old wind up version to play a record. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jI1kNOxh71I
I found the evening so enjoyable listening about the history of our iconic hotel, The Grand. Let’s hope it is restored to its former glory soon.
Standing in the doorway, my neck craned forward into the empty room, head first, as if the rest of my body did not want to follow, a tangible fear prickling a shower of goosebumps onto my skin. The room was large and chilly. An electric fire was making little effect on the temperature, releasing a musty smell of electrically heated dust. It was dark outside and the heavy curtains were closed. The curtain moved? But there was no open window behind them. A low hum hung in the air, was it electricity?
A garish 1970s red patterned carpeted floor, clashed horribly with floral wallpaper, scattered with Pink Flamingos. A magnificent high vaulted ceiling, heavy brown wooden doors and panelling, a palatial mantlepiece, a forest of chairs, sofas and tables all displayed its Edwardian origins. It was built as a gentlemen’s residential chambers and club rooms in 1899. I imagined the gentlemen twirling their moustaches and doffing Derbys and top hats in a thick swirling smog of pipe and cigar smoke. Posing in frock coats in the Palm Court conservatory, dancing with society in the ballroom with its modern, sprung dance floor.
100 years of human energy hung in the air, invading the shadows, creeping into the dimly lit corners of the room. I don’t believe in ghouls and ghosts, have never seen a spirit or a spectre, I don’t believe in hauntings and demons. A scuttling sound. Rats? In this moment, in the year 2022, there was War once more in Europe.
More than a hundred years ago, previous occupants in The Grand, the Belgian Royal Family, along with many Belgian refugees fleeing carnage in Europe and living in the town. Agatha Christie created Hercule Poirot whilst staying in The Grand. I needed his little grey cells. A whistling sound? No, it is my tinnitus. I stood frozen in the doorway, legs like lead pipes, lurking on the cusp of danger.
The sky outside resembled a child’s painting – a pale, pink wash. The Night Porter’s shift had finished. His old war wound, a bayonet gash from the Ypres Salient, was troubling him. The previous evening’s top-secret dinner had been a rum do, with all those dignitaries. A right nuisance they had been too. Home and a stroll to the allotments beckoned now.
The hotel was coming to life. Baths were being drawn upstairs. In the basement, the kitchen staff were rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Having checked her reflection in the mirror in the servants’ corridor, Elsie Tomkins hurried towards the drawing-room, taking care not to slip on the polished black and white tiles, holding the coal-scuttle carefully for fear of smuts on her apron. Mr Ashby, the hotel manager, liked a fire to be laid in there early, so guests could retire in there after breakfast.
Last night’s staff had been careless. The poker was lying on the rug. Dried flower petals were scattered across the hearth. One of the leather chairs by the fireplace seemed to be occupied already. Elsie prepared to execute a neat curtsey. Then, she dropped the scuttle and screamed and screamed.
Scene
Jane Cottle March 2022
The room was grand both in proportion and appearance. It carried itself like a dowager duchess who looked patronisingly at us as we sidled through the door in our jeans and Puffa jackets. This was a room that really demanded dinner jackets and bow ties, jewelled gowns and tiaras.
Large sofas and polished wood tables were carefully arrayed inviting you to sit and be served by uniformed flunkeys that no longer existed. Despite the grandeur of its panelled walls and fluted columns that framed alcoves something was missing. It was cold, bone-chillingly cold, like a house that hasn’t seen human occupation for a long time. There was the tell-tale musty smell of unused furniture and a general air of faded gentility.
This was a room that had once seen gaiety and life. A room that had framed parties and felt champagne spilt on its carpets and echoed to the sounds of tinkling laughter. Where well-dressed couples had shared secrets and gazed into each other’s eyes. Were men in designer suits had discussed investments over a single malt. This was a room that had once smelled of money.
Now it was a room aching to be brought back to life.
The sky outside resembled a child’s painting – a pale, pink wash. The Night Porter’s shift had finished. His old war wound, a bayonet gash from the Ypres Salient, was troubling him. The previous evening’s top-secret dinner had been a rum do, with all those dignitaries. A right nuisance they had been too. Home and a stroll to the allotments beckoned now.
Debby Jones
The hotel was coming to life. Baths were being drawn upstairs. In the basement, the kitchen staff were rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Having checked her reflection in the mirror in the servants’ corridor, Elsie Tomkins hurried towards the drawing room, taking care not to slip on the polished black and white tiles, holding the coal-scuttle carefully for fear of smuts on her apron. Mr Ashby, the hotel manager, liked a fire to be laid in there early, so guests could retire in there after breakfast.
Last night’s staff had been careless. The poker was lying on the rug. Dried flower petals were scattered across the hearth. One of the leather chairs by the fireplace seemed to be occupied already. Elsie prepared to execute a neat curtsey. Then, she dropped the scuttle and screamed and screamed.
Paul Robinson
Charlie’s hazel eyes narrowed as she pushed at the heavy revolving door and entered the abandoned hotel. She was determined to take in everything, miss nothing.
She entered a large room on her right, through wide double doors. Once it would have been luxurious, now, though, it gave off an air of grandeur that was very faded, the high white ceiling greyed with age and neglect, with a shabby, once garish, orange carpet.
The L-shaped room was ten metres long, ‘ten big strides’ Charlie measured. ‘And ten wide.’ At the end was a picture window. The room was furnished with cast-off settees and chairs, scattered all higgeldy-piggeldy. The walls were papered with a faded birds-of-paradise pattern in faux William Morris style.
‘Very beige!’ Thought Charlie. Two large mirrors, one in a circular sunburst design, and one rectangular one, reflected back the light of the impressive electric chandeliers.
‘They haven’t shut off the electricity then’ realised Charlie. Then she spotted the one splash of colour in the room. ‘The boys were right’ she thought. A large woman was artistically posed in an armchair. Her white dress was splashed with red, and her sightless eyes stared up at the dingy grey ceiling.
WRITE BY THE SEA IN FOLKESTONE 