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Art & History

Falconry and the Tudors

When you write a book that is set in a particular period of history, it is important to get the details correct. This means that writers of historical fiction have to do a lot of research.

The first scene of Katharine Edgar’s novel, Five Wounds takes place on a hillside in sixteenth century England, where her heroine, Nan, is hoping to see her young merlin falcon make its first kill. Katharine had find out all about falconry and the Tudors – the keeping and training of falcons, and other birds of prey.

When I showed the first scene of Five Wounds to some writing friends, some of them asked a question I wasn’t expecting. ‘How rich is Nan’s family? They live in a big house so why does she need to hunt for food?’

Good question!

Art & History

Prehistoric Art

When we visit art galleries or learn about art in school, we tend to think of paintings on canvas, sculpture or photographs. Often these will be clearly recognisable as people or objects like food and flowers, and we can relate to them as familiar in some way.

Art and pictures have been around ever since people first were recognised as human by historians, in pre-historic times. Prehistoric simply means history which dates before written accounts are available to study. The earliest humans did not have writing with which they could communicate and this means that art and pictures were even more important to them.

Sports

Stories from the Stables Part 2 – Topper. Ouch!

Our Stories from the Stables series from Carolyn Ward continues with a flea-bitten grey with a shocking attitude.

Topper. I swear that pony could scowl.

It was my week to ride him, and I had just hauled him all the way down to the outdoor school and stood him in the middle to check his girth and stirrups. As I reached under to tighten up the girth he turned his head toward me and eyeballed me, then stepped over with his nearside foreleg; and stamped on my left foot.

I hissed a very rude word and frantically pushed him to move him off. My foot sunk into the woodchip surface with his heavy weight crushing it down. By now he was still looking directly at me, so I started punching his shoulder to try and get him to step off. Today’s teacher was a crosspatch I have no fond memories of; if she had found out about it I’d have been bawled out for having my foot in the wrong place or something.

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