I recently spoke at the Bowlines Maritime Literature Festival, my text being the relevance of nautical fiction when relating history. Being one who prefers listening to ‘talks’, rather than ‘reads’, my notes were exactly that; guidelines for the actual presentation, but I’m publishing an unedited version now for those who were unable to attend.
Filling in the Gaps
Historical Fiction and its place when relating the past
Historical Fiction can be a contentious subject. Certainly the genre has been maligned on occasions. Some see it as turning serious history into a form of entertainment, riding on the backs of academic nonfiction writers, or even glorifying, and distorting, the past. That could sometimes be the case although most working in my field have a genuine interest – some would say love – for their period, and every reason to portray it as accurately as possible. Of course, we can get it wrong – although mistakes are not confined to fiction writers, or writers in general come to that. Often, when researching a particular incident or campaign, I’ve found conflicting reports or interpretations in quite respected nonfiction books, and fresh information is being discovered all the time. I think Bernard Cornwall said it best in a piece he wrote for the Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook.
“You are going to get things wrong. None of us mean to but we do. There were no rabbits in King Arthur's Britain, which I knew, but a helpful reader (there's always a helpful reader) wrote to tell me there were no snowdrops either. Got that wrong.
Nevertheless, I would maintain historical fiction has a place and, at its best, actually enhances the work of historians, opening up and illuminating what can be an obscure or neglected period.
I’d like to say more about that later. But first some background on my journey to being a fulltime writer of historical fiction.
My father was a fulltime writer, his first major work was for Eagle an unashamedly wholesome children’s magazine intended to combat the horror mags popular in 1950s Britain. Eagle spawned several similar titles, and Dad was involved in most. On meeting my mother he showed her some of his work and she was horrified, saying, “you don’t read comics, do you?” I should say he did go on to write best sellers in both fiction and nonfiction but was also partially responsible for Mrs Dale’s Diary on the BBC Light Programme, after which he fled to Rhodesia and was rarely heard of again.
I wanted to follow him as a writer but was hampered by poor presentation skills, my handwriting and spelling was – and is – appalling and although I appeared relatively bright and read voraciously, I fared badly academically. This was in the late fifties/early sixties, and I was fortunate in getting an early assessment of dyslexia – a condition that was only just becoming prominent. There was little in the way of remedial help, though I did develop a good memory and noticed other subtle advantages in the condition. Whatever, I left school at fifteen with no qualifications and found a place in the Music Trade yet the urge to write remained.
In those days I mainly wrote for pleasure as editing to a degree suitable for submission was a lengthy process. But writing remained an important part of my life and, when word processors became more affordable, I bought one. This was more gamble than investment as I had yet to earn a penny from my work but, within a month I was published.
Following my father to some extent; my first paid brief was in Boy’s Adventure Titles (Comics to you and me). I wrote for a number and each had their own briefs; one, for a predominately action packed mag, listed their target audience as being – boys between the ages of 10 and 14 and members of the armed forces… Whatever, I mainly worked for the same company that had bought out Eagle and made my Dad redundant. It was regular but not highly paid – roughly £25 per printed page – and I kept my day job in the Music Trade. The extra cash came in handy, though, and financed our first child. Because of this we named him after one of my characters – he was the only boy in his class to be called Batman.
From there I moved on to various periodicals that varied from Practical Musician to Professional Builder and did quite a bit of stage work including some time at the Croydon Warehouse Theatre. Then, after teaming up with Roger Mintey, a long term friend and fellow writer, began submitting pieces and ideas to BBC Radio (Light Entertainment). This is a notoriously tight market, but we had moderate success and within a year were commissioned to The News Huddlines on Radio Two and Weekending on Radio Four. Both took a satirical look at recent events and attracted large audiences; Weekending especially being considered quite influential. Of course it was comedy and, as everyone knows, the news and current affairs are serious subjects. But there should always be room for comment and a short sketch or even a single line on national radio, could convey a point, an opinion or – more usually – criticism, as well as any lengthy newspaper editorial. Our work was strictly monitored of course, although few subjects were off limits, and we were followed by the great and the good – even politicians… I should say here that this was one occasion when dyslexia had a bearing; the condition encourages a lateral approach which suits satire. On handing my script editor a last moment line that was very poorly handwritten he told me half his commissioned writers were dyslexic (and the rest manic depressives, but that’s another story). Our material was needed in a matter of days – sometimes hours – and all had to be bang up to date. Having to meet such a deadline was excellent training while we were also involved with several programmes for independent TV. But I still wanted to write what, to my mind, is the purest form of the craft – novels.
My interest in the Georgian navy began with a trip to Victory when I was five and has only increased with age. Even before my teens I had amassed a sizable library of nonfiction work on the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars although, being solely concerned with facts, I showed no interest in historical fiction. Then, on being introduced to Hornblower, all that changed. Forrester included some political history of the time, but much of his work centred on seamanship and the minutiae of shipboard life and that is what fascinated me most. My nonfiction books said much about tacking and wearing, splicing line or caulking strakes, but Forrester brought such things to life. Hard facts can be as gripping as any fiction, but they do not speak of the hum of wind through lines, the stink of bilges or the desolation of those seized by the press or awaiting a surgeon’s attention. For me Forester filled in the gaps, adding colour, texture and, in some cases, the explanation needed to gain a true understanding.
I soon discovered other writers in the genre and, after enjoying many, decided to join them, which is when the hard work began. Taxi drivers start by learning what they call “The Knowledge”; streets and landmarks are memorised to effectively provide an internal satnav. I began in a similar way, reading and re-reading all I could on the Georgian Navy and social history of the period, making copious notes and visiting as many museums and exhibitions as my wife could stand. But that was just the groundwork; more specialist knowledge was needed when centring on a particular campaign or battle. Friends tell me I’m obsessive about history, and facts in general, which might be right: I hate Christmas cards that show Father Christmas alongside penguins, when everyone knows penguins live in the south pole... But after several years of general and specific research I began to plot the first book in my Fighting Sail series.
Which begins in 1795, when the Revolutionary War was already underway, and ends (for now at least) just before the 100 days. And it includes a fair amount of history; the Bantry Bay invasion is covered, as is St Vincent, the mutinies at Spithead and The Nore; Camperdown, Tory Island, while later work extends into the Napoleonic Wars and that of 1812 – a sensitive subject when so many of my readers are American. There are also diversions into the East India Company, Parole Towns and the Barbary Slave Trade. However, rather than following one man; ‘the Hero who becomes an Admiral’ I wanted to take a general approach, and one that gave a more honest view of the navy at that time. Obviously a good deal of action and personal dynamics takes place in the wardroom and captain’s cabin, but the gunroom and lower deck can be just as active – if on a different level (literally!). Likewise the characters; a variety of commissioned and non-commissioned officers appear and reappear throughout the series, but I also developed petty officers, idlers, lower deck hands and, dare I say it – women – who make regular appearances. The lower deck storylines run throughout, often overshadowing those of the officers.
And appearing, then disappearing is what my characters do best. Having no central lead, as it were, gives tremendous freedom. When picking up a James Bond or Sherlock Holmes novel, you can be reasonably sure the hero will make it to the end. (Admittedly both Bond and Holmes were killed off by their authors mid-series though became remarkably reincarnated when the bills started to come in.) I wanted no such restrictions; war at sea is a grisly business, men die or are maimed; run, betray or fall from favour and my characters reflect this. In short, no one is safe; as one reader put it “I like reading Bond because he kills people.”
Throughout the series I tried to remain true to the history, both political and personal, and included figures prominent at the time. And here I feel some licence should be allowed. Important speeches and memorable quotes are recorded but no one can accurately relate more casual conversations, yet such things can be essential when plotting a novel. I think the trick here is to know your characters, that Hardy was slightly dour, Nelson could be a little arrogant at times and dear Emma was… dear Emma. On researching less prominent figures personal traits are also apparent. Home Popham is a case in point. His life story is so extreme and, at times surreal, as to be rejected by any decent fiction editor yet a strong, and definable personality shines out. The guy was gifted, although not in the conventional way, and I am convinced was on the autistic spectrum. Of course the condition had not been identified at the time, but that didn’t mean it failed to exist, and I was confident enough to write him, and his dialogue, as such. Not sound history, perhaps, although it explained such a complex character better than any detached description.
There are other times when conditions or ailments yet to be acknowledged or discovered can be alluded to. Meniere’s syndrome is a disorder of the inner ear that presents as episodes of crippling vertigo similar to seasickness. It was not identified and named until well into the nineteenth century, but would have been prevalent earlier, so one of my fictional characters is shown to suffer.
I wrote two books in the series and one was picked up by a small UK publisher. Then Tom Grundner, CEO of Fireship, an American house, got hold of a copy and bought the rights for that and published both. Three more followed then Tom died suddenly, leaving me to mourn a man who’d become a friend, although one I’d never met; a strange sensation. At the time Rick Spilman and Joan Druett were starting Old Salt Press, who took the next fifteen books. Fireship closed in August last year and I was able to revise and migrate their books; now all twenty of my novels are under the Old Salt Press banner.
But only fifteen are in the Fighting Sail series. Two are stand-alones that focus on the smuggling rife in the same period, but the final three take place in a much later conflict.
The work of Coastal Forces during World War Two has always fascinated me. High speed launches initially operating in home waters and tasked with protecting UK merchant shipping, and attacking those of the enemy with perhaps the occasional shore raid, air sea rescue or more clandestine operation. It was an exciting concept, and I sensed sufficient material for an extensive series. However, another dose of background research would be needed, and I wondered if my style of no central character and multiple viewpoints would work.
Of course, the weapons and vessels would be entirely different, and there was the magic of wireless and RDF to incorporate, as well as more accurate ways to navigate and predict the weather. And the characters, the officers and men, they would be different as well. In fact the Navy of WW2 could have little in common with that of the 18 th and 19 th century. However, when I began to research, it was the similarities, rather than differences, that became apparent.
For a start, during WW2, one in fourteen of the British population were on active service with the Army, Navy or Air Force. In the Georgian period the ratio was much the same (if notably fewer pilots…). And the Navy of Duncan, Nelson and Hood depended heavily on amateurs; redundant weavers and the like. These were drawn to the alien world of the sea as the only available means of employment; that or pressed – along with more competent men – by a system both unfair, and necessary, in equal measures. Most learned quickly and many found a career while their efforts contributed greatly to Britain’s eventual survival.
At the outbreak of WW2 Coastal Forces consisted of two operational flotillas manned by a handful of professional seamen. Within a year the force had grown to multiple home bases, many housed in former hotels or theatres with a corresponding increase in personnel. The officers needed for such expansion were mainly drawn from the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve; some having been day skippers in pleasure craft or maybe served aboard small commercial vessels. But none were used to commanding several thousand horsepower of multiple aero engines. They, like their Georgian counterparts, were volunteers although the general hands were mostly conscripted. The majority of these had little nautical experience and, although not physically seized by the press, the Call Up was strict and, in some areas, more encompassing than anything devised in the past. Most “Hostilities Only” ratings – commonly known as “Hostiles” – had little interest in fighting a war or going to sea, and often only volunteered for Coastal Forces to obtain a home posting. As in earlier wars, some also made the Navy their profession, but the vast majority had been content with their life ashore and only wished to return. Consequently portraying the personal dynamics proved far easier than I expected, while reference material was also more plentiful; it was especially good to be able to watch old newsreels and actually see and hear the heroes of the time speak.
And describing life in Coastal Forces also held another advantage. It was a small ship war; light vessels with minimal crews; often the work of an entire department would be done by a single man, while discipline, and the manner of command was understandably more relaxed. Such an ethos encouraged stronger relationships as well as trust – something that could be maintained or broken. Such elements bring a novel to life and proved a godsend when it came to sketching out storylines.
Despite the difference in eras, Coastal Forces is selling well, certainly on a par with the Fighting Sail series and I think the reason for this is another linking factor.
Unless we are talking high-adrenalin all-action adventure – bald men in vests firing at each other down lift shafts – a novel is about something we all know a lot about: a novel is about people.
People in unenviable situations, in danger sometimes, but certainly under pressure, and historical fiction provides all of this. It is how they react, how they survive, are defeated or learn from the experience; their personalities, attitudes and values. It is this which gives the interest and escapism necessary.
Frankly Historical Fiction is not the easiest genre to work in; those centring on contemporary issues have less research or background investigation, so can concentrate wholly on their characters without worrying about when the MkV launch was introduced or the range of a MkII Vickers.
So, to rephrase the original question slightly; what part does fiction play in reporting the past – or the truth at any time, come to that.
Though it contained no new information as such, Ken Loach’s Cathy Come Home did more to publicise, and hopefully address, the plight of the homeless than any number of reports or statistics. And there are many similar examples in books, films or on television where fiction is used to shine a light on past and contemporary events, employing shock, humour or simple narrative to explain and inform. Uncle Tom’s Cabin did much to highlight the injustice of slavery, Dickens wrote of poverty and the workhouse at a time when its empire was making Britain a wealthy nation. Since the days of Cruikshank and Hogarth cartoonists have used their art – and humour – to point out injustices and make the odd political point and, more up to date, dramatised documentaries are becoming common. Many previously knew of the recent Post Office Scandal, but it took Toby Jones and an excellent production team to bring the story to life, prominence, and general understanding.
In the same way linking fiction to history can perform a very important role. Under the sugarcoating of a story, a previous time is revealed, one where the challenges of everyday life stretched people very much like ourselves in different and possibly unimagined ways. History repeats itself because we refuse to learn from it. Instead each generation insists on making its own mistakes and the knowledge is rarely passed on.
Of course I want readers to be entertained by my work and become interested in the period, but I certainly don’t think they’ll feel inclined to join Nelson’s navy, or that of World War Two. And I also trust none will come away with the feeling that conflict of any kind is the only solution to a dispute. I hope we will always have textbooks to remind us of the facts, and the vast majority do this in a way that is easily digestible and – dare I say it – entertaining but, if historical fiction makes the past a little more understandable, then so much the better. And if nothing else, it might fill in a few gaps