Tag Archives: Eleanor Hawken

Ghostly Tales

Eleanor Hawken, Curtis Jobling and Cathy MacPhail

But I didn’t. Back out, I mean. I entered with some determination, because I was there for ghosts with Cathy MacPhail and Eleanor Hawken and Curtis Jobling, which is no small thing. I had only read Eleanor’s Grey Girl, but am happy to take the word of others as to the ghostliness of Cathy and Curtis. Their books. Not them.

Cathy’s most recent title is Scarred to Death, which is a great play on words. Haunt, Dead Scared by Curtis is about a dead boy whose trainers are either intact or quite ruined, depending on whether you are dead or alive.

Eleanor Hawken

For all three the fondness for ghostly things began at an early age. Eleanor consumed two Point Horror books a day before going to a boarding school with a resident ghost at 13. Cathy liked ghosts ‘ever since she was a wee girl’ and then she came up with the idea of seeing your dead teacher in the queue at Tesco. Curtis has loved ghost stories ‘since he was a little girl as well’ – the remains of hurricane Bertha flapped the tent at this point, if it was Bertha – and has a past which includes flour and string, and a father who liked to scare his children.

Andrew Jamieson, who chaired the event, sensibly let the audience ask questions early on. It was a pretty ghostly minded audience – apart from the lovely baby who chewed on a green guest lanyard to avoid crying – and the answer to whether novels tend always to be autobiographical is yes.

Cathy MacPhail

Eleanor dreamed Grey Girl and Cathy also made a sleep related comment. She started work in the mill at 15, being too poor to stay on at school, and then began writing when her children were small, in the belief that one short story ought to be enough, and then discovering she was addicted. Mills & Boon found her attempts too humorous.

Curtis Jobling

Curtis reckons you should work hard at your hobbies, and you might find your hobby turns to work (yes, but we can’t all draw Bob the Builder!). He drew us a Were-Bob on the strategically placed flipchart next to him.

On what they like to read, Eleanor fell in love with Philip Pullman and His Dark Materials as a teenager. Cathy reads anything from Stephen King to Young Women, but not romance. (I suspect the M&B problem has just been explained.) All seem to be fans of Let the Right One In, which doesn’t reassure me one bit. Bite.

And do they believe in ghosts? Eleanor does. Curtis doesn’t. He said it was just the wind, since we’re in Scotland now. Cathy, well, maybe. She’s not scared, but… Have they seen a ghost? Eleanor has (the advantages of having attended the right school), while Curtis explained that he wakes his wife if he hears a noise in the night. Poor Mrs J.

If anyone is still not scared enough, Andrew mentioned that he quite likes Chris Priestley’s short stories.

Asked if they have plans for what they will do next; yes, they do.

Eleanor Hawken, Curtis Jobling, Cathy MacPhail, next to David Roberts and Alan MacDonald

At this point we’d run over in time, and as we were ‘thrown out’ I glanced at the bookshop’s signing area and decided they’d have their work cut out to fit three more authors in, next to the two who were still there. And that while they did, I’d have time for a super fast comfort stop.

As I re-emerged, I found that Curtis had had the same idea, so we walked back to the bookshop together, where there was just space for him between the ladies. There were queues everywhere, and people wanted all kinds of things signed. Curtis even got to ‘deface’ someone’s notebook.

Wish I’d thought of that!

First Monday

Inverness was cut off from the rest of the world, and for a fleeting moment I believed that this would have no implications for me. The ‘big’ train was cancelled and ScotRail generously let its passengers travel to Edinburgh on the small one. Mine. Whereas my two coach train didn’t have to accommodate every single passenger off the 12 coach train, it was still too full. I did the best I could and hogged the fold-down seat on the non-platform side of the train and read my book and pretended to be really old and didn’t move for 50 minutes.

Haymarket station has been totally transformed! And for the better, even. Very nice. The trams, on the other hand, have added another five minutes of waiting for the green man at crossings – if you are the waiting type – and if you count all the way to Charlotte Square.

Which is where I was greeted by the so aptly named press-Charlotte and given my press pass, before I found a sturdy (-ish) looking chair in the square on which to sit and eat my sandwiches. Before that I had picked up some tickets I’d bought online. I managed to get them despite not remembering which card I’d paid with, nor what my postcode is. Was. I mean, I do, but having used three different ones in the last few months, I was unsure which one I’d told them. Talk about senior moments!

There was a huge police presence. I wondered whether they had suddenly developed a passion for books, or if the festival had begun to attract the wrong kind of customer. (I later learned that Alex Salmond had been. I knew that, actually, but failed to connect the two.)

Edinburgh International Book Festival

The weather was cool and grey, but clothes worn by visitors included anything from sundress and sandals to double jumpers with jacket on top. (I was sort of medium.)

I think I spied the back of Vivian French, and as I ‘ran’ to get to my event on time, I couldn’t help noticing Philip Ardagh tying up his signing in the children’s bookshop, so popped in at super speed and said hello and goodbye, and he even shook my hand before I was completely gone. I wonder who he thought I was?

Change. You know how I feel about change. They had only gone and changed the layout of the RBS Garden Theatre!! I was so shocked I almost backed out again.

The Grey Girl

Not having read The Blue Lady, I don’t actually know what had happened to Suzy before the point when she turns up in Eleanor Hawken’s The Grey Girl. But having said that, I don’t reckon I need to.

Suzy can see ghosts. That much is clear. It is also clear that she is heading for more ghostly encounters as she spends summer with an aunt at her mansion somewhere in the countryside.

Eleanor Hawken, The Grey Girl

This could be a ‘period’ story, were it not for the mobile phones and computers. It’s got a very nice old-fashioned feel to it, and not only because the ghostly happenings hark back to 1952. It’s simply nicely basic in its setting and plot, and this makes the whole book a much more pleasant read than your average ‘teen angsty relationship and isn’t everything awful?’ kind of book.

It’s an adventure, Blyton style, with boarding schools, orphans, aunts to go and stay with and a picture postcard perfect village and church, and haunted mansion with its own resident ghost.

I quite like the cover too, which again harks back to a Blyton-esque kind of adventure (despite Suzy’s modern clothes), complete with attic and cracked mirror and tarot cards.

Enjoyable, as long as you don’t suffer from ghost phobia.