A Family Created by War

We are now almost eighty years past the end of the Second World War and novels from the era remain extremely popular. The need to capture and tell stories about the greatest conflict the world has ever seen is more pressing than ever. But why? There are many reasons, but I will focus on three. First, the men and women who experienced the war as adults, either directly or in its periphery, are dwindling. Those left who own the stories will soon no longer be with us. Many of those who served never wanted to reveal their experiences to family or the public at large anyway, this makes the stories that have surfaced and survived even more special and the need as writers to ‘mine’ the memories of our forebears even greater. Third, we live in an age of great intolerance where our daily feed of social media exacerbates the religious and political fanaticism that is so rife across the world. I believe that by listening to the lessons of the past, passed on through stories that give us a view from both sides of a conflict, we can help tackle intolerance.

Storytelling has always been integral to my family’s life. As children growing up in Hampshire, my sisters and I often listened to stories from the places our parents grew up in – Ireland in my father’s case and Lincolnshire in my mother’s. One story fascinated me more than others. As a teenager sitting at the dinner table in 1980s Winchester, my mother told me the tale of her own family dinner table in the 1940s Kirton Lindsey – the likes of which there cannot have been too many. Around it sat my grandparents, Fred and Miriam Day enjoying Lincolnshire potatoes with my Aunty Mary, a conscientious objector, twice imprisoned for refusing to make bombs; my Uncle Roland, an officer on Algerine class minesweeper HMS Rifleman; and my soon to be Uncle Werner, a former PoW and Luftwaffe camera operator on a Junkers 88, together with my Aunty Roslyn, now Werner’s fiancée and my mother, Josephine. It was gathering brought together through war that would create an Anglo-German family, demonstrating the magnanimity of my grandfather who opened his doors to a Luftwaffe man despite his own experiences at the hands of the Germans as an artillery gunner at Ypres in the First World War.

I realised the significance of this unusual gathering of experiences and viewpoints immediately and recognised that the tolerance and humanity it demonstrated flew in the face of many of the jaded stories during wartime I had seen in films and read in books and comics. Roland, who had served in Royal Navy operations in the Mediterranean in 1942 had joked that his future brother-in-law’s crewmates could easily have dropped bombs on him from the skies above, given Werner’s reconnaissance escapades in the Malta campaign. Werner’s three days alone in the North African desert after the shooting down of his Ju 88 by an RAF Hurricane, and the description of him as ‘quiet, unassuming and cultured’ by the Chairman of Governors at the Lincolnshire school he taught in after the war, said much about his character. These glimpses of the past continued to play out in my head and for years and I became fascinated by my German uncle and knew one day I would write a story inspired by his experiences.

In recent years I was able to reach out to his children and visit Germany to understand his life better and to familiarise myself with the documents held by the family. I understand now what a precious opportunity this has been, requiring a level of curiosity and persistence on my part and the openness and cooperation of my cousins.

What I had already realised then came into sharper focus – we find ourselves on different sides not always because of our choosing, but through political or religious belief systems imposed upon us, perhaps through geography. More than those macro factors, we more often make decisions based upon immediate familial relationships, and the deep running emotions and needs they stir in us, even overriding our rational beliefs and judgement. It is these themes that push and pull so many characters, fictional and real and certainly in my novel, Leaving Fatherland. A greater understanding of our motivations and those of others helps us understand the past and help us decode and prevent the current drive toward polarisation in politics in so many countries.

A bookish chat across the ocean

It was great to spend a few minutes chatting to California-based film maker Andi Reiss about the inspiration, research and launch of my novel Leaving Fatherland.

The perfect voice

One of the best things about writing, and then launching, a novel is the ability to work with a supporting cast of talented people. In this blog I’m going to talk about someone who has had an incredible impact on my Leaving Fatherland project - the narrator of my audiobook, BBC Ghosts actor, Simon Bubb.

I knew the moment I heard Simon’s voice reciting a section from my book where my protagonist Oskar arrives in New York, that he was the man for the job. There was a certain quality to his voice that matched my book and its mood perfectly and which I knew people would love listening to.

Now, with the final audiobook ready, I can thankfully say that he has done an incredible job to bring the book to life - narrating Oskar in his journey from childhood to deathbed, while easily transitioning into other character voices in the story in such an engaging and listenable way.

Simon’s recent screen credits include a guest starring role of Peter in Channel 5’s popular crime series, ‘The Madame Blanc Mysteries’ and series 5 of ITV’s popular crime drama ‘Unforgotten’. He recently starred as Major Rittner in the stageplay, Operation Epsilon at the Southwark Playhouse in London to rave reviews.

As a narrator I would thoroughly recommend him. But it is down to you, the reader, to decide and soon you will be able to do so with the audiobook of Leaving Fatherland joining the paperback and Ebook on pre-order, available on Amazon, Audible and ITunes. If you’re still making up your mind, have a listen to Simon in this video.

Prisoners and a plastic zebra

The last remaining buildings of Pingley Camp, also known as Camp 81, a former prisoner of war camp on the outskirts of Brigg in Lincolnshire, are now part of a children’s playground in a garden centre. It was rather surreal standing there next to a plastic zebra and being filmed by my daughter talking about why this place has a special connection to my family and features in my novel Leaving Fatherland, which is due for publication in August, 2024. I hope you find the video interesting.

The story that started it all

It was a delight to travel to RAF Museum Cosford with my daughter Emily to create this film. I hope you enjoy it. The story of my uncle’s crash in the North African desert during the Second World War really was the starting point for my novel, Leaving Fatherland, which is published in August, 2024.

Wonder-full WonderDusk

I’d never read any of my own poetry to an audience before, so to do so before the 500 people gathered at Donkey Green, Box Hill, to celebrate the Surrey Hills’ landscape and woodlands at the WonderDusk event, was truly wonderful.

Organised by Surrey Hills Arts and the National Trust, WonderDusk gifts a range of artistic treats to attendees, including puppetry, choir, art installations, theatre, dance and poetry, all in celebration of our local environment. My poem ‘Nine Thousand’ is a tribute to dark skies and a combination of my passions for creative writing, astronomy and nature. Reading it under the red lantern-lit Mother Tree to climax the event is an experience I will never forget.

The evening began with dancers, holding symbolic birds, welcoming us to the woods, where three large groups were led along ever darker paths by lantern holding guides. We passed poets corner, where three of my Surrey poet colleagues read wonderful pieces communicating our relationship with trees. Next, closing my eyes as I listened to a group singing a beautiful praise of the oak in their camp of tree stumps, I transported myself back to a time when our respect for nature was greater, our relationship with it more symbiotic. Further along the path, intricate art installations, lit from below, gave time for reflection. As natural light began to fade, the real magic began - first as a group of young performers in white, wrapped in lights, performed a mysterious ‘life of trees’ piece, followed by a group singing and dancing with lights to celebrate our ‘mother’ trees.

As the groups returned to Donkey Green a wonderful choir sang loud as a mass murmuration of birds, enacted by participants, flocked around them and then descended to the mother tree where I waited for silence then began by poem. Looking first to the sky and then to the gathered old trees, I finally felt the energy of humanity before me and began my reading in the darkness. My poem is below. I hope you enjoy it.

Infinite Optimism

Motherhood has been described as ‘an act of infinite optimism’. This expression describes Aneta, the mother figure in my novel Leaving Fatherland, very well. Her relationship with and effect upon her son, my protagonist Oskar, is one of the key threads running through the story. It is a relationship that gives Oskar focus and emotional nourishment, allowing him to follow his instincts through the obstacles his life throws up. Despite her own dashed dreams, she keeps Oskar’s alive.

There are undoubtedly thousands of stories, spanning every epoch of time and from every corner of planet earth about marvellous mothers and their role in inspiring and motivating their sons and daughters. Heading back to 12th century Mongolia we have the formidable Hoelun, mother of Genghis Khan, the founder and first Emperor of the Mongol Empire.  Hoelun survived kidnap, being widowed and outcast, before becoming mother and advisor to one of the greatest empires the world has ever seen.  She could also yell at Genghis and get away with it!

Fast forward to mid-19th century Ohio, Nancy Edison gave birth to Thomas, her seventh and youngest child. As you may remember Thomas went on to light up the world, with inventions including the motion picture camera, phonograph and electric light bulb. But his genius was not immediately evident to his teachers, one of whom described him as "addled" (i.e. mentally ill or incompetent). This insult infuriated Nancy who took young Thomas, often ill with ear infections, out of school and educated him at home.  Edison, likely dyslexic in a time before that learning difficulty was understood, later said of her: “My mother was the making of me. She was so true, so sure of me; and I felt I had something to live for, someone I must not disappoint.”

There are some memorable mothers in the world of fiction too. Who could forget strong-willed Molly Weasley, Harry Potter’s surrogate mum, whose fierce temper fails to hide her gentle, caring soul?  What about resolute Mrs Margaret ‘Marmee’ March from Little Women, brilliantly played by Susan Sarandon in the 1994 film. Unlike so many mothers of her time she focused on ensuring her daughters developed their characters and skills rather than looking for the first suitable husband.

In Leaving Fatherland, www.mattgraydon.com Oskar’s mother, Aneta quietly instils the importance of reading and education in her son, and ensures he always has books to read. She play’s a critical role in protecting Oskar from his father’s designs for him, encouraging him along the path she believes he’s destined to take. When Oskar arrives safely at NYC in 1938, to complete his studies and begin a new life there, it is his mother he thanks. Later in the story as the truth about his mother is revealed to him, we see Oskar honouring her memory from his deathbed.

Like Thomas Edison, I suffered sometimes limiting ill-health as a child. It kept me off school and often in hospital for weeks on end and sometimes limited my ability to carry out normal childish activities. But I was similarly fortunate to have an encouraging mother. She saw latent potential in me and wherever my interest turned would always state: “there’s nothing stopping you doing that.” Rather than guiding me to a specific focus, she consistently highlighted my achievements and things I’d done well, building my confidence. My mum is now 90 years old, still young at heart and encouraging me along the way.  

I’d love to hear from readers on this topic. Who is your favourite mother figure from the world of books and films and why? What qualities does she display? I’d also like to hear about your own mums, living or deceased. How have they helped, encouraged or inspired you? Please leave comments below. If you’d like news on my forthcoming book, please sign up for my newsletter at www.mattgraydon.com

Choices

Choice is a wonderful thing. But in our modern age we sometimes feel like we have too much of it. The amount of choice we have in so many different areas of our lives can be overwhelming and fairly meaningless all at the same time. But we should never take it for granted. Our freedom of choice has been hard won, politically and economically, over many generations. It’s a product of a successfully functioning democracy and economy.

There have, of course, been many times in history, when the choice of people, both singularly and collectively, has been limited or even nullified. No more so than during the most significant conflict of the last 100 years, the Second World War, where even in ‘free’ countries, young men and women were given no choice but to sign up and serve their countries. Some in Great Britain, like my aunty, were conscientious objectors and refused to take part in the war effort and were imprisoned as a result. Those under totalitarian regimes often met with far worse ends.

War makes us look at choice through a completely different lens and it is this viewpoint that I have tried to examine in the novel I am currently writing. I think it’s important to test your principles, to think about what choices you would make if your country was at war. Some people, who are very patriotic, feel very clear about that, others have more nuanced feelings. Would you fight for your country whether you believed in the cause you were fighting for? What about if you or your loved ones were threatened with imprisonment or death if you refused to fight?

I often wonder if I’ve made best use of my freewill in life, my choices. Who doesn’t? But most of us will never have to consider the life and death choices many people have made in wartime, both leaders, whose decisions impacted millions, and ordinary men and women trying to do the ‘right thing’.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. What is the hardest choice you have ever had to make?