A Page Straight From Margaret Tanner's New Release @apagestraightfrom

Allison's War

by

Margaret Tanner

BLURB:

In 1916, on the French battlefields, a dying soldier’s confession has the power to ruin the woman he loves.

Meanwhile, on the home front, Allison Waverley has to battle shame, loss and betrayal. Can she overcome the dark secrets in her past and find happiness, or will it always elude her?

http://amzn.com/B00JF4YA9E

The war news went from bad to worse. The French, outnumbered and outgunned, retreated towards Paris. Belgium had fallen and was occupied by the Germans, but for her, Allison shuddered. It was spring, a time for new life, and a new life grew inside her, callously put there by Phillip.

Rolling up newspapers to start the fire, pure chance had her staring at the social pages. Blood pounded through her veins as she read the few devastating lines: “Queensland society wedding of the year. Phillip Ashfield, only son of Lord and Lady Ashfield of Yorkshire, England, married Miss Isobel St. John, only daughter of Colonel and Lady St. John formerly of Herefordshire, England, now residing in Queensland.”

The room tilted, and she clung to the table until it righted itself again. She stared at the wedding party. Six attendants. What did she care that the bride wore a white silk gown adorned with imported French lace? The bridal couple was returning to England immediately, as Phillip Ashfield, a graduate from Sandhurst, was anxious to join his father’s old regiment.

Well, Miss St. John was welcome to him, but the sheer vileness of it overwhelmed her. Even as he forced himself on her, he had planned to wed another woman. How could a man be so heartless?

It was terrible being so desperate and alone, Jim and Tommy away, her father hardly home and then never sober. She rode recklessly, moved and lifted heavy objects, took scalding hot baths, but nothing happened.

Maybe she should go to the police and tell them what Phillip had done, but who would believe her now? What good could it do? Would the minister know of a place where girls in her predicament could go? Visions of slaving away in some terrible workhouse rose up like pictures on a canvas. Abortion? The word gave her the shudders. Some backyard butcher? Vomit rose up in her throat.

A Page Straight From Margaret Tanner #apagestraightfrom

A WICKED DECEPTION

A bugle call shattered the stillness. Melanie flattened herself against the outside walls. Yelling and shooting wildly, the red coats charged forward. Shots rang out from within the stockade as the diggers fought back. Soldiers swarmed in from everywhere.  Her ears rang from the noise of the guns. Worse still were the screams and cries of wounded men. 

A man bent double and clutching his stomach, staggered out of a broken down portion of the stockade. A redcoat set upon him, clubbing him with his rifle butt. Melanie grabbed a piece of wood, crept up behind the soldier and hit him on the head. As he dropped to the ground she heard the miner gasp, “God bless you, Miss,” before he crawled off into the darkness.
She had to get inside the stockade and find Robbie, but how?  If the redcoats didn’t shoot her, the miners probably would. Everything had become chaotic. Think woman. Foolish heroics wouldn’t do her or Robbie any good now. “Oh, God. Help me.”

The battle raged fiercely for about twenty minutes. Sometimes volleys of shots rang out, but gradually the shooting eased off to spasmodic firing. A wall of flame shot upwards as troopers set fire to the tents.

Men converged from everywhere. Horrendous cries and screams rent the air. A digger raced outside the stockade, only to be run down and bayoneted to the ground by a soldier on horseback. Carnage. Utter carnage.

She dashed forward. It was a sickening scene, even in the pale dawn light. “Stop it,” she screamed. Too late, the man on the ground now lay still, all life snuffed out of him.

The soldier reached down to grab her. “You beast, let me go!” She kicked and screamed, frantically twisting and turning.

A bullet whistling through the air just missed him. The horse reared in fright, sending the soldier crashing to the ground.

“Melanie? Quick, help me.” Robbie swayed like a drunk. One of his arms hung uselessly at his side, the other held a pistol. “Help me. I’m a dead man if I’m caught.” He almost collapsed as he tried to mount the redcoat’s horse.

“Robbie!” She grabbed the pistol from his trembling hand and held it while he tried to mount. It took three attempts before he succeeded. The redcoat groggily climbed to his feet. 

“You’re under military arrest,” he growled. “Both of you.” 

“Stay where you are. I’ll shoot.” She pointed the pistol at him, grasping it with both hands so it wouldn’t waver.

“Can you ride, Robbie?” Stupid question, he slumped in the saddle like a loosely tied sack of spuds. “Get your foot out of the stirrups!  Now!” Although dazed, he did as she ordered when she screamed at him a second time.

The redcoat lurched forward. 

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot. I mean it. I know how to use this thing.” She threatened, loading her voice with menace.” What a lie. She had never discharged a gun in her whole life.

“You’ll regret this, Miss. It’s a serious crime aiding and abetting a criminal and assaulting an officer of Her Majesty’s forces.”

Buy Link:   http://amzn.com/B00ENSANPW

A Page Straight From...

Fiery Passion by Margaret Tanner

Luke Campton entered the barn and his gaze homed in on Jo. His breath caught in his throat and his heart beat quickened. He could never remember feeling this way before. With her flaming hair rippling about her shoulders and her shining, vivid green eyes, she made a stunning picture. God, what a beautiful woman. Like liquid fire, heat surged through the whole of his body before pooling at his groin. He compressed his lips, fighting to get himself under control. He shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t come within a bull’s roar of Jo Saunders.

Damn Tim for defying his orders to stay away from the dance. He couldn’t trust the boy with pretty, gullible farm girls.

Maneuvering people with great energy, Jo made sure no girl remained a wallflower. Once their first bout of shyness abated, the young men joined in the dancing with gusto.

She was being swung around by a suntanned timber cutter when she overbalanced. He made a gallant attempt to catch her, but missed. Another pair of arms clamped liked steel talons around her, saving her from sprawling in an undignified heap on the floor. Glancing up into the face of her rescuer, Jo wished she hadn’t.

Luke Campton.

Blood rushed to her head, heat sizzled along her nerve endings.

“Good evening, Miss Saunders.”

“Good evening, Mr. Campton.” Even to her own ears, her reply sounded husky, and she fervently hoped he didn’t notice.

“Must be my turn to dance with you.”

Before she could refuse, he led her back out amongst the other dancers. For a big man he moved well, executing the various steps with surprising expertise. Yet he didn’t seem the type of man who would indulge in dancing.

His dark jacket and matching trousers appeared immaculate. A white silk cravat held in place by a ruby stud enhanced his piratical good looks.

“You’re beautiful.” His warm breath stirred the loose ringlets at the side her throat. “We make a striking couple.”

The subdued light thrown out from the lanterns softened the harsh planes of his face. The bitter twist to his mouth almost disappeared when he smiled; even the scar seemed less prominent. He was as dangerous as a rattlesnake. She knew this, yet like a moth drawn to a flame that would devour it, she couldn’t resist him, couldn’t stop her body from softening against him, becoming pliant in his arms.

He must have felt her softening, and his next words confirmed it.

“That's better, pretty Jo. With the right clothes and jewels, you could be the most beautiful woman in the colony. Let me buy them for you,” he offered in a silky soft voice.

The moisture in her mouth dried up, making it difficult to swallow. Was he proposing marriage? They hardly new each other and yet she was drawn to him, and instinctively knew he was drawn to her. From the moment they had first met there had been a strong attraction between them. She admired powerful men, but they had to have a tender side and she had not as yet seen this with Luke. Her senses reeled as she desperately fought to get her feelings under control. “Wh…what do you mean?”

“I want you, Jo. More than any other woman I’ve ever known.”

“Want! No thank you.” The magic spell shattered into a million pieces. His offer had reduced her to the status of a common whore.

Surprise registered on his face. “You’re the first woman in years to refuse me.”

“Am I?”

Her spine stiffened, her head tilted at a proud angle. Wrenching free, she minced across the barn, leaving him standing in the middle of the floor. Several people snickered. She did not need to glance around to know he would be fuming at this public snub.

All pleasure from the evening disappeared now. Why did he have to come along to spoil things?  Surely nothing worse could happen.

Tim Campton stepped in front of her.

“Dance, Miss Saunders?”

“No thank you.”

“I asked you to dance.” Intense color flooded his cheeks.

“I'm not deaf. I said no, thank you.”

“I'm Tim Campton.” Anger threaded his tone. Obviously this young man didn’t like having his advances rejected.

“All the more reason why I don't wish to dance with you.”

A dangerous mistake, as soon as the words were uttered she realized this. His strange, colorless eyes narrowed to slits and his face contorted. His evil laugh sent shivers down her spine.

“So be it.” He swung away and stalked off.

Nervous tension twanged through her body, her legs trembled and her hands felt sweaty.  As she accepted an invitation to dance from another young man, she fought a desperate battle not to let him see her turmoil. As they returned to the floor, Luke had disappeared, but Tim started dancing with Amy Kirkman. For the next little while, she forgot the ugly incident. Thank goodness it would be supper time soon, dancing could certainly be fatiguing. I’ll be glad to have a rest and something to eat.

Everyone gathered around the front of the barn to listen to William explaining what they would do with the money they had raised. Jo glanced up just in time to see Amy, followed by Tim Campton, heading outside. A sudden feeling of dread surged through her. Quickly, but hoping not to attract attention, she sidled across the barn until she made it to the door.

In the few moments it took for her to become accustomed to the darkness, the pair had disappeared. Hurrying first in one direction, then the other, she found herself near the carriages. Instinctively she went over to their buggy and picked up Ian's rifle.

A short, sharp cry rent the air and she charged in its direction.

“Amy!” Fear raised her voice. “Amy!”

Another scream came from near the stables, and Jo ran. The night was not pitch black because of the star-filled sky and filtered light thrown out by the lanterns strung out along the wall of the barn. Horror temporarily froze her feet to the ground as she saw Amy desperately struggling with that monster Tim Campton.

With strength dredged from God alone knew where, she screamed out. “Let her go.”

Tim dragged Amy towards the stables. Jo rushed at him, hitting his back with the butt of Ian’s rifle.

“Bitch,” he snarled, letting Amy go as he swung towards Jo in a maddened frenzy. One hand contacted with the side of her neck, the other hand grabbed the front of her gown and the sound of the material ripping mingled with Amy’s screams. She tried to wrench herself free, but fell to the ground.

Rising groggily, she saw Tim holding the rifle. He advanced towards her. He was going to shoot her. No sound came out of her paralyzed throat. Like a maddened beast he lunged forwards, tripped over something, and in the split second it took before he hit the ground, a shot echoed on the still night air.

Luke arrived on the scene first, followed by Ian and the Kirkmans. Tim thrashed around in his death throes, blood spurting out everywhere. Ian helped her stand up. Someone threw a shawl or blanket about her shoulders. Luke knelt on the ground, cradling his dying brother's head, running his fingers across Tim’s forehead, brushing away a tendril of hair.

Tears were beyond Jo. Horror struck her dumb. Ian and Fiona tried to comfort her while the Kirkmans consoled Amy. The terrified girl’s hysterical screams became louder, reverberating through the darkness.

As Ian helped her away, Luke raised his head. His eyes stared straight into hers. He did not speak. The sheer savagery of his expression registered with her even though she was on the verge of collapse.

http://www.amazon.com/Fiery-Possession-ebook/dp/B00C2JOK6M/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1364548536&sr=1-1&keywords=fiery+possession

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Friday's Few Lines From...

Margaret Tanner's Fiery Possession:

Jo Saunders did to him what no other woman had done in years. Set his pulses racing, exciting him to the point where he nearly lost control.

Damn Jo Saunders. Damn her to hell. 

http://www.amazon.com/Fiery-Possession-ebook/dp/B00C2JOK6M/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1364548536&sr=1-1&keywords=fiery+possession

Please come back on April 12  to read Roseanne Dowell's exciting snippet.

#A Few Lines From, #BWL

Hereeeeee's Margaret

MY HEROINE,  HOLLY KIRWAN – MARGARET TANNER

War is a terrible thing, not only for those fighting in it, but for those who wait at home for news of their loved ones. Barely a day goes by without the papers referring to casualties in Afghanistan or a couple of years go it was Iraq. Young men struck down in their prime, but what of the women they leave behind? The ones who “keep the home fires burning” as they would have said in earlier wars.

In Australia, war widows and their children receive a pension and benefits from the government, but what of their other needs?  Here in Australia there is an organization known as Legacy, dedicated to the welfare of widows and children of deceased servicemen. The men do not need to have been killed in action, but must have seen active service in a war zone. 

My mother was a Legacy war widow, even though my father died decades after he returned home from fighting overseas.

Legacy was started by veterans returning from the 1^st World War who wanted to keep a promise to their dying comrades “look after my wife and children for me.” It is a completely voluntary organization and receives no funding from the government. Their funding comes from public donations, bequests etc.  The sole aim of Legacy is the welfare of children and widows of service personnel who have died.

They do offer some monetary assistance if required, but their priority is to help the widow with tasks that her husband would have performed – home maintenance, educating and supporting the children, organizing holiday camps for children and giving practical advice on pension and other matters that the widow cannot handle on her own.  Every widow and child is appointed a Legatee to look after them. A Legatee is almost always an ex-member of the defence forces who gives their time freely to help the family of their deceased comrades  

Holly Kirwan is a fictional character in my novel, but she could quite easily be anyone’s daughter, sister or friend. Here is a young woman who fought against terrible tragedy and was eventually able to have a second chance at happiness.

I have to say I love all my books, (sorry about the self adulation), but my favourite would be Holly And The Millionaire, my one and only published contemporary romance. It has been published before, but after revision and updating, and a wonderful new cover, Books We Love have re-published it. It might seem strange because I call myself a historical writer, but somehow Holly got under my skin and stayed there. She was a gutsy little fighter whose soldier husband was killed in Afghanistan and left her with a toddler to bring up on her own. She didn’t let being dealt a bum hand in the game of life defeat her.

I didn’t need to do much research for Holly’s story. My youngest son has been in the army, so I obtained information from him, and the newspapers were full of the war in Afghanistan.

I actually got the idea for this novel when I was flying back to Australia from London, after visiting my oldest son who lives over there. A good deal of the story is set in Melbourne where I live.  I tried to imagine how a young woman would feel, all alone with her baby, and on the run from her husband’s ruthless parents.  They want the baby but not her, and they will stoop to anything to get their son’s child. How devastating and frightening that would be for Holly, especially as her husband was barely cold in his grave.

I wanted to make the hero, Justin, the opposite. Wealthy, confident, ruthless to a point, but underneath that hard exterior, a man with a heart, who falls in love with Holly and her baby, but doesn’t realize how much he cares until he almost loses them.

                                                ******

HOLLY AND THE MILLIONAIRE

Fleeing from her ruthless English in-laws who are intent on stealing her child, Holly Kirwan boards a flight home to Australia and meets Justin Devereux. They are instantly attracted to each other.

Justin doesn’t want a permanent woman in his life, particularly one with a baby in tow. Holly, still grieving for her soldier husband who was killed in Afghanistan, doesn’t want to be disloyal to his memory.

BLURB:  MAKE LOVE NOT WAR

Make love, not war was the catch cry of the 1960’s. Against a background of anti-war demonstrations, hippies and free love, Caroline’s life is in turmoil. Her soldier brother is on his way to the jungles of Vietnam. She discovers she is pregnant with her wealthy boss’ baby, and her draft dodger friend is on the run and needs her help. 

http://www.bookswelove.net/tanner.php

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/240190

Margaret Tanner, December's Guest

Note from Ginger:  Margaret Tanner, an award-winning author from Australia, and a very good friend, even though we've only met via the Internet, has come to my rescue during health issues and a busy time, and agreed to guest post for me.  I'm so proud to have her at Dishin' It Out, any time because she, indeed, is among the best.  So, rolling out the red carpet for Margaret Tanner, once again:

VIETNAM WAR – MAKE LOVE NOT WAR

At the risk of revealing my age, I have to say the 1960’s was my time. Mini skirts, stilettos (I’ve bunions to prove it), beehive hair dos, I couldn’t quite manage that, although I did tease the life out of my hair and regularly put in coloured rinses, French Plum or Rich Burgundy, were the colours I favoured. I can remember when the Beatles made their first visit out to Australia. A couple of girls I worked with were lucky enough to get tickets to their concerts, (we hated them, of course), they came to work the next days minus their voices, and stayed that way for about a week, because they had screamed so much.

We used manual typewriters in those days. One original and four copies of everything we typed. I don’t know how many blouses I ruined because I got ink on the sleeves from changing the typewriter ribbon or the black stuff off the carbon paper.

During this time the Vietnam War loomed in the background. The Australian government introduced conscription. It was in the form of a ballot, or the death lottery as many called it. All twenty year old males had to register, their birth dates were put into a barrel and a certain number were drawn out, and those young men had to report to the army and subsequently many of them were sent to Vietnam. This of course caused severe bitterness and division in the community, and even though the government denied it, was subject to abuse and unfairness. Rich men kept their sons at university so they didn’t have to go.  Conscientious objectors were thrown into prison. Only sons were called up, yet families with two or three eligible males didn’t have any of their boys called up.

I only had one brother, and I can clearly remember my father (a World War 2 veteran) vowing, that if his son got called up, he would protest on the steps of the parliament with a placard on his back.

There were protests marches, anti-war demonstrations, and things often turned violent. Not that I went to any of the protest marches, but a cousin of mine did and got trampled by a police horse. A very turbulent time in our history and I was right in the middle of it.

BLURB:  MAKE LOVE NOT WAR

Make love, not war was the catch cry of the 1960’s. Against a background of anti-war demonstrations, hippies and free love, Caroline’s life is in turmoil. Her soldier brother is on his way to the jungles of Vietnam. She discovers she is pregnant with her wealthy boss’ baby, and her draft dodger friend is on the run and needs her help. 

http://www.amazon.com/Make-Love-Not-War-ebook/dp/B0094WQOPU/ref=sr_1_12?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1346642917&sr=1-12&keywords=margaret+tanner

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Margaret Tanner is Back at Dishin' It Out

ROSES 

Roses are my favourite flower. My husband thinks I am obsessed with them.  I always wear rose perfume, Bush Rose, Musk Rose. The Yardley (English company) Rose is a lovely perfume, as sweet and fragrant as its name sake.

I have to confess that my garden is full of roses. Hubby hates them with a passion because he thinks they deliberately jump out and stick their prickles into him.

I love the old fashioned roses the best. They may not be quite as colourful as the modern day varieties, but they always have a gorgeous perfume.  Just Joey, a beautiful large bloomed orange rose with a delightful perfume is one of my favourites.  Another favourite is a blood red rose named Oklahoma, the perfume is as heady as wine.

It amazes me how often I seem to put a flower in the title of my romance novels, or describe garden scenes. It must have been an instinctive thing because I don’t recall actively trying to do this.

One of my published novels was titled The English Rose. It was revised and published by The Wild Rose Press (TWRP) as Frontier Wife. Holly And The Millionaire is another of my novels published by Books We Love. The heroine, Holly has a daughter called Lilly. Daphne is the name of my heroine in A Mortal Sin, published by Books We Love. I have also written a short story Call Of The Apple Blossom.  

My latest release from Books We Love is Savage Possession, and there is of course, a rose mentioned in this story. The Bonnie Prince Charlie rose, which was a symbol worn during the Jacobite rebellion. In English history, there was also The War of the Roses.

Can you see a pattern here? I love flowers, particularly roses.

SAVAGE POSSESSION

In colonial Australia it took hard men like Martin Mulvaney to tame a harsh land.

A sweeping tale of love's triumph over tragedy and treachery in frontier Australia.

A mistaken identity opens the door for Martin Mulvaney to take his revenge on the granddaughter of his mortal enemy.
An old Scottish feud, a love that should never have happened, and a series of extraordinary coincidences traps two lovers in a family vendetta that threatens to destroy their love, if not their lives.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008EL0FTI

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Welcome Margaret Tanner To Dishin' It Out

Note from Ginger:  Margaret is an award-winning Australian Author and a favorite author of mine.

A SYMBOL OF COWARDICE BY MARGARET TANNER 

For several hundred years the white feather was handed out as a symbol of cowardice. 

Who could forget the powerful movie, The Four Feathers, taken from a novel by A.E.W. Mason? It starred Heath Ledger and Kate Hudson? Set in 1884, against the background of the Sudan War. A British Officer, who resigned his post just before going into battle, is handed four white feathers. One is from his fiancée and the other three from his army friends.

In England, in August 1914, The Order of the White Feather was founded by Admiral Charles Fitzgerald, to shame men who would not enlist for the 1^st World War. Women mainly handed out these feathers to young men who were not in uniform. Sometimes they would stick the white feather in the lapel of the man’s coat.  Of course, these women didn’t know or obviously care, that many men who may have volunteered for the army had been rejected because of health reasons, or perhaps they had a vital job to perform in munitions etc.

Many men were persecuted or shamed into joining the army, sometimes with deadly results, or if the army would not take them, they were driven to suicide. The stigma of having been handed a white feather stayed with some men for a lifetime.

Here is a short extract from my novel, Daring Masquerade, published by Books We Love. It shows how unfair and cruel the act of handing out a white feather could be.

Ross is the hero, Harry the heroine and Gil is her wounded soldier brother and the recipient of the white feather.

                                                ***

Harry stared into the shop windows as they sauntered along the street. Poor Gil had pushed his stump into his pocket so no one could see his missing hand. Her heart bled for him. She went to slip her arm through his. Remembering at the last moment that she was supposed to be a boy, she hastily drew back.

The verandah covered shops were made of the same yellow sandstone as the pretty little church they had passed coming into town. A small rotunda set amidst lawns and colorful flowerbeds, stood at the end of the main street.

“We need to support our soldiers after their valiant battle in the Dardenelles. They’re crying out for reinforcements,” a portly gentleman said. “What type of man would loaf around here while his fellow Australians are dying in the trenches?” 

“Here, here,” a well-dressed young woman cried out. “Conscript all the shirkers who won’t enlist.”

“What are you doing here, young man? Aren’t you ashamed to be so cowardly as to let other men fight for you?” A middle-aged matron shoved a white feather into Gil’s hand.

“You old bitch,” Harry yelled, knocking her hand away, while Gil stood pale and shaking. “How dare you accuse my brother of cowardice?”

“Why doesn’t the coward enlist?” someone else called out.

“You despicable creatures!” She screamed back. “You should be arrested.”

Back and forth, Harry and several of the women hurled insults as more people milled around listening to the argument. Harry became so inflamed she didn’t care what came out of her mouth. “You parasites, living comfortably here while forcing someone else to die.”

“Your brother is a coward, young man,” the portly gentleman said. “He should enlist and do his bit for the Empire.”

“Here, here, Mayor,” someone endorsed his views.

“He’s done his bit,” she shouted. “You pompous, overstuffed pig. Show them, Gil, show them your arm.”

From the corner of one eye she saw Ross striding toward them, but didn’t care. She dragged Gil’s arm from his pocket and raised it high. “He’s given one hand to the war, isn’t that enough?”

Silence reigned. Amidst the embarrassed muttering, Ross’s voice rang out loud, clear and deadly.

“What the hell are you up to, Harry?” He strode forward and grabbed her arm. “Are you mad?”

“They gave Gil a white feather for cowardice.” She fought him as he dragged her kicking and screaming from the dais. “They gave Gil a white feather.”

“Shut up,” he snarled, “before you get arrested. What happened, Gilbert?”

Gil tried to speak, but the words would not come out. He opened up his hand and a white feather fluttered to the ground.

http://www.amazon.com/Daring-Masquerade-ebook/dp/B0081CJECY/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTG8&qid=13364772888&sr=1-10

http://www.bookswelove.net

Welcome, Margaret Tanner - All The Way From Down Under

FELON’S APPREHENSION ACT 1878

In colonial Australia the families of ex-convicts and poor Irish immigrants were often on the receiving end of an unfair English justice system, which favoured the rich and powerful.

Against this background, Ned Kelly, his brother Dan and their friends Steve Hart and Joe Byrne formed a gang and became bushrangers (outlaws). They were hated by the authorities but revered and aided by many ordinary folk who thought Ned Kelly had been persecuted and forced into crime.

On the 26^th October 1878 at Stringybark Creek, the Kelly gang shot and killed three police troopers and wounded a fourth, when the police set a trap for them. After this there was a price on Ned Kelly’s head.

Desperate to catch the bushrangers the government of the time revived a medieval law that had been obsolete in England for centuries.  They called it the Felon’s Apprehension Act of 1878.

This Act enabled the Kelly gang to be proclaimed as outlaws.  It was one of the most serious laws parliament could evoke.  It authorized any person to shoot the proclaimed dead like wild beasts, without demand for surrender, or any process of arrest or trial. 

 On the ninth of December 1878, the Kelly gang came out of hiding in the ranges to hold up the bank in Euroa, their first public appearance since the Stringybark Creek murders.  They made their way to a sheep station on the Faithful Creek to spend the night, having first locked up the manager and his men in the storeroom.  The next day after a hearty meal they rode away.

On the day of the tenth, at the exact time the Licensing Court was in session and the town's only policeman otherwise occupied, the Kelly gang robbed the bank. They got away with more than nineteen hundred pounds as well as thirty or so ounces of gold.  After a siege at the Glenrowan hotel, Ned was finally captured. Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne were killed when the hotel was set alight.

Ned Kelly was subsequently put on trial, found guilty and hanged in what is now known as the Old Melbourne Jail. 

The Old Melbourne Jail is now a tourist attraction and is open to the public and what a spooky place it is even in daylight.  Ned Kelly’s death mask is out on display and the scaffold still stands with the rope swinging over the trapdoor. 

My latest novel, Savage Possession is set against this background.

BLURB: Savage Possession:

A sweeping tale of love's triumph over tragedy and treachery in frontier Australia.

A mistaken identity opens the door for Martin Mulvaney to take his revenge on the granddaughter of his mortal enemy.

An old Scottish feud, a love that should never have happened, and a series of extraordinary coincidences traps two lovers in a family feud that threatens to destroy their love, if not their lives.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008EL0FTI

Note from Ginger:  I've downloaded this book on my "bulging" Kindle, but reading this has made me move it up in priority.  BTW, Margaret is a multi-award winning author in Australia, and recently traveled to Las Vegas here in the U.S. to accept some well-deserved notice.  I had the great pleasure of finally hearing the voice of someone who has become a great friend despite the amazing distance that separates us.  One of these days, I hope I have the opportunity to meet her for real.  :)

Welcome, Margaret Tanner

THE ACT OF SELECTION 

In Australia the 1860/61 Land Act allowed free selection of crown land. This included land already occupied by the squatters, (wealthy ranchers), who had managed to circumvent the law for years. A similar scheme apparently operated in the US as well.

The Act allowed selectors (small farmers) access to the squatters’ land, and they could purchase between 40 and 320 acres, but after that, the authorities left them to fend for themselves. Not an easy task against the wealthy, often ruthless squatters who were incensed at what they thought was theft of their land.

The Act of Selection was intended to encourage closer settlement, based on intensive agriculture. Selectors often came into conflict with squatters, who already occupied land. The bitterness ran deep for many years, sometimes erupting into violence.

Steele Rudd (a pseudonym for Arthur Hoey Davis 14.11.1868 – 11.10.35), an Australian author wrote a story On Our Selection. He based it on his father’s experience as a selector struggling to make ends meet on a small parcel of land.  It started out as just one chapter published in a magazine in December 1895 and eventually became the basis for Dad and Dave, a popular radio series which ran from 1932 – 1952.

Henry Lawson 1867 – 1922, was born on the gold fields of NSW. Many believed him to be the first poet to capture the Australian way of life. After a childhood ear infection, he was totally deaf by the age of 14, and he grew up to be bitter about his poverty and ill-fortune.

In 1888 he started publishing his stories and poems.

The Fire at Ross’ Farm, was a classic poem about selector versus the squatter.

Robert Black, the squatter’s son, loved Jenny Ross the selector’s daughter.

When Robert tells his father about the bushfire (wild fire) threatening the Ross farm, his father said, and I quote these couple of lines from Henry Lawson’s poem, which I feel epitomise the extent of the hatred and mistrust between the squatters and the selectors.

Then let it burn the squatter said, I’d like to see it done

I’d bless the fire if it would clear Selectors from my run (run is an old, no longer used, Aussie term for ranch).

Frontier Wife, my latest release from The Wild Rose Press, is set against this background.

The heroine’s uncle selected 80 acres for his farm on Adam Muno’s 40,000 acre property.

FRONTIER WIFE   -   BLURB

Tommy Lindsay arrives in colonial Australia to claim the rundown farm she and her brothers have inherited.

Hidden behind her fragile English rose beauty, beats the heart of a courageous young woman. She will need all this strength to survive the unforgiving heat, and the dangers lurking around every corner.  Lost in the bush, capture by a feral mountain family, raging bushfires are nothing, compared to the danger she faces if she gives her heart to wealthy squatter, Adam Munro.

Adam has no room in his heart to love a woman.  All he ever wanted was a presentable wife who would provide him with heirs.   He didn’t need passion in his life, not until he met the beautiful English rose living next door to him.

Only in the new world can a highborn young Englishwoman and a tough frontier man, ignite the passion that will fulfill their hopes and dreams in ways they never imagined possible.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/frontier-wife-p-4099.html

http://www.margarettanner.com 

Note from Ginger:  Although I consider all the people on my blog to be friends, Margaret and I have connected across the miles, and I consider her not only at the top of my friend's list, but she's a favorite author of mine. She's too shy to tell you that she's an award winning author, and has recently been named a finalist in the Readers Favorite Book Reviews and Award Contest. If you read one of her books, I bet you'll have to read them all.  As a matter of fact ONE lucky commenter on Margaret's post will receive a free copy of Frontier Wife.  Get to commenting!

Welcome, Margaret Tanner

Margaret Tanner’s historical romance novels have been inspired by the hardships and triumphs of her pioneering ancestors in frontier Australia.

Wild Oats was released by The Wild Rose Press on 26th February. It is the prequel to The Trouble With Playboys which came 3rd in the recent Preditors & Editors Poll.

SHORT INTRODUCTION:

Captain Phillip Ashfield toasted his elevation to fatherhood, as a barrage of artillery pounded the battle scarred fields around him.

English aristocrat, Phillip Ashfield, comes to Australia to sow some “Wild Oats”. After seducing Allison Waverley, he decides to marry an heiress to consolidate the family fortunes. Phillip has made a fatal choice, that will not only ruin his own life, but the repercussions will be felt by the next generation.

To save Allison from the disgrace of having Phillip’s baby out of wedlock, Tommy Calvert, who has always loved Allison, marries her. Mortally wounded on the French battlefields, Tommy is found by Phillip who learns that Allison has borne him a son. He vows to claim the boy when the war is over, because his wife cannot give him an heir.

MY LOVE SCENE: THE YEAR is 1914 just prior to Tommy’s embarkation for the war in Europe.

The lights dimmed when the Tango was introduced. Every man in the room held his partner close. This dance had made the Palais notorious. “Evil,” “depraved,” and “immoral” were just a few of the descriptive words printed by the newspapers, but Allison liked it. Neither she nor Tommy could dance, but they soon copied the antics of others, and laughed and clapped as much as anyone.

The tempo of the place quietened when the saxophones in the band started up to accompany the man who sang, “If you were the only girl in the world, and I was the only boy...” They stood close together, listening, until it finished.

“Let’s leave now,” Tommy said, and Allison waited near the door as he went to collect her coat. He helped her into it, took her hand and they left.

Instead of making for the train station, Tommy led her towards the beach. It was a cool night, with dark clouds scudding across the sky, but numerous stars twinkled. The breeze blowing straight in off the sea smelt moist and salty, and the sand felt soft beneath her feet.

They didn’t speak, just walked slowly away from the lighted Palais. Except for the muted sound of the waves, it was silent on the beach, and Allison felt as if they were the last two people left in the world.

Tommy stopped and drew her close. “I love you, Allison.” He started whistling the tune. “If you were the only girl in the world, and I was the only boy,” softly in her ear and she leaned her head against his chest.

A magic spell cast itself over them. She didn’t want to speak, lest the spell be broken. Some instinct from deep within warned her this moment, once it disappeared, would never come again. She closed her eyes to shut out everything except Tommy’s nearness.

Visit Margaret's website for more information on the 2008 Australian Writer of this Year award winner.

Welcome, Margaret Tanner

THANK GOD I’M ALIVE

More than twenty years ago, I was involved in a serious accident when a fully laden semi trailer ran into the back of my car, virtually demolishing it. How I survived was a miracle, how I was able to walk away with just a few bruises was even more miraculous. Even the emergency workers who arrived on the scene couldn’t believe it. My car was crushed, the semi-trailer jack-knifed and ended upside down, and the driver had to climb out the window, but all I could blubber about was losing one of my shoes. Since that time, though, I only drive when I absolutely have to, and even then I hate it.

Everyone knows me – the lady who sits on or just below the speed limit. The one who gets tail-gated and abused by impatient road users who ignore speed signs.

I always leave a reasonable distance between my car and the one in front of me, only to be out-maneuvered by someone else squeezing into the gap. When the skies open up and the rain buckets down, giving the road surface the texture of an ice-skating rink, I reduce speed, while others roar past leaving fountains of water in their wake.

There are those who abuse me for stopping a few feet from a railway crossing when in a long line of traffic, instead of waiting in the middle of the tracks. Everyone knows the cars in front will move before the train comes. Perish the thought that when the lights do change, someone might stall and hold up the flow, so I’m left like a sitting duck at the mercy of the boom gates crashing on to my roof, or the 5.08 express train, running me into the ground. Selfish individual that I am – don’t I realize everyone else is in a hurry.

Why do I get upset when some maniac passes me on the wrong side of the road? After all I can easily slam on my brakes, and let them in front of me when the third lane they have created peters out. Tough luck if the truck almost sitting an inch away from my bumper bar can’t stop, but a few precious seconds gained, a few extra vehicles passed, means a lot when a driver is in a hurry. Don’t I realize how busy everyone is?

The lights are green in the distance; they change to amber when I am meters away. How can a woman be so stupid? All you have to do is accelerate, as long as your front wheels are at the intersection when the lights turn red, it’ll be o.k. The tooting driver behind me is obviously running late, and there are no police cars around.

One might be moved to ask what all the fuss is about. Everyone knows you have to take risks on the road, show the machine you’re driving who the boss is, intimidate other road users so they know how tough you are. After all, you’ll never have an accident because you’re such an expert driver.

A metamorphosis seems to come over many people when they climb behind the wheel. Their well-mannered, easygoing ways evaporate. They become ruthless predators, waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting victim, whose only crime is that they try to obey all the road laws.

Have you people who use your vehicles as speed chariots ever felt the gut-wrenching sensation of real fear? Do you know what it is like having to traverse the highway every morning and evening, along the same stretch of road where a truck slammed into the rear of your vehicle, completely demolishing it?

But I am alive and I give thanks for that.

******

Margaret lives in Australia and is a multi-published author with The Wild Rose Press and Whiskey Creek Press.

On board the convict ship taking them to the penal colony of Australia, Maryanne Watson and Jake Smith meet and fall in love, but Jake hides a terrible secret that will take him to the gallows if it ever comes out.

http://www.margarettanner.com/