ARIA BLOG TOUR: The Child From the Ash Pits 11/26/2019

About the book

In the aftermath of the General Strike, times are tough for coal miners and their families. Can little Cally break free from poverty, and forge a successful life for herself?

 When Cally loses her beloved mum, she hopes her father will comfort and protect her. But instead she soon acquires a cruel and vengeful stepmother, and Cally begins to fear that she is on her own.

 Through uncomfortable years in service, to a terrifying brush with the streets, through hard work and determination, Cally finally finds a place for herself. She even trusts enough in the future to create her own family, despite being so cruelly abandoned by her own.

 At last in a place of peace and contentment, Cally has all she ever hoped for, but with World War 2 looming, how long can she hold on to the people she loves?

 Taking us from 1926 all the way to end of the Second World War, Chrissie Walsh has written a heart-breaking tale of love and survival, perfect for fans of Dilly Court and Lyn Andrews.

REVIEW/THOUGHTS: This is a truly amazing historical fiction that had me rooting for Caroline “Cally’ right from the start. Cally’s life begins with such an emotional hardship when her mother and unborn sibling dies, when she witnesses her father’s indiscretions, and when she experiences having a step mother who hates her to the core. In her growing years, she yearns for the love of her parent. However, her father buried in his own guilt and grief was not able to provide any love or attention she needed and craved. Worse yet, as she buried herself in doing well in school she was denied by her step-mother the opportunity to further her studies. Instead, her step-mother sends her away to work in a home where the master is known to take advantage of young women.

The story goes through history from 1926 through WWII, and the hardships of the laborers in the mine, the country and the injured soldiers. As the saga of Cally’s life continues, we see her through her marriage and family, her life continues to be tested. But because of Cally’s strength and resilience we are rewarded with a satisfying story where difficulties and challenges are a part of life. Walsh is an exceptional storyteller that has brilliantly delivered an amazing life story of how a girl finds her way and picks herself up from the ash pits.

Thank you to Aria and Vicki Joss for having me in the blog tour. 

 Please Enjoy an extract of the book:

Cally pressed her back hard against the sharp brick of the ash pit wall, the scratchy feeling through her old winter coat nurturing her frustration. Mam would be lying in bed upstairs full of aches and pains, waiting for Cally to go up and see her… and downstairs… she wondered what her dad and Annie were doing at that very moment.

She’d been thrilled when Mam first told her about the baby, a little brother or a sister to play with, but she didn’t feel like that now. It’s the baby’s fault Mam’s poorly and Annie’s staying to mind the house, she silently told the distant slag heaps. All I want is for Mam to get back to the way she used to be and for Annie to go away.

Her thoughts black, and her bony little bottom chilled from sitting on the cold flagstones, Cally wandered onto the wasteland in search of something pleasanter to occupy her mind. Trailing vetch and fescue grasses tickled her ankles and a film of white blossom iced her crow-black hair where it grazed the tallest parsley fronds. In a bedraggled thorn bush a pair of robins flitted from branch to branch. Cally stopped to watch them, their beady little eyes twinkling back at her and making her giggle. Close by the bush a cluster of aconites sprouted amongst the weeds. Cally plucked them, her fingers nimble with impatience. She’d take them home for Mam; Mam liked flowers.

Then she remembered. Her dad had locked her out. She badly wanted to go to her mam but she didn’t dare go back home until her dad called her. Tightening her grip on the bunch of aconites, she crushed the sappy stalks to slime before tossing the wilting posy into the air: Babies! Pit strikes! Annie! They all stank!

*

Meanwhile, in the larger of the two bedrooms in number eleven, Jackson’s Yard, Ada Manfield wakened from an uneasy sleep. Gazing up at the ceiling, she solemnly assessed her situation. She hadn’t suffered like this when she was expecting Cally; she had positively bloomed in her first pregnancy. Not even the three brief miscarriages that followed had caused this much grief. Now, her limbs swollen with fluid and every breath agonising, she feared death might easily find her. And if that wasn’t enough to contend with, she was now faced with the George and Annie thing.

Through closed eyes Ada recalled the day Annie had arrived at the door of number eleven, begging to be taken in. At first she hadn’t recognised the trollopish young woman standing there, a battered Gladstone bag at her feet. It wasn’t until Annie had thrown herself against Ada’s chest gabbling a tale of woe that Ada had realised this was the sister she hadn’t seen for seven years.

And I was pleased to see her then, thought Ada, tossing back the bedcovers. I even thought it propitious that she should arrive just when I needed someone to help run the house and care for Cally whilst I was laid up. How wrong was I?

But I had no way of knowing she had grown into a devious, spiteful young woman, thought Ada. After all, she was only a child when I last saw her. And now she’s a brazen seventeen-year-old vamp with an eye for your husband, urged an inner voice, and he, the fool, seems happy to play his part.

Ada heaved herself to the edge of the bed, thinking back to the first time her suspicions had been aroused. Then she had contented herself with the idea that it was her condition making her unusually sensitive. She had come downstairs unexpectedly, to find Annie in George’s arms, their lips almost touching. ‘She’s got something in her eye,’ George had blustered, Annie twittering that a spark had shot out from the fire whilst she was tending it. And I wanted to believe them, Ada told herself, planting her feet on the floor and struggling upright.

Guest Post:

I took great pleasure from writing this novel. In many ways it was cathartic. Not only is it set in Yorkshire, my home place when I was much younger, it’s about the kind of people to whom I belong. It also got me thinking about how all too often we have an inability to communicate our feelings, particularly to those we most love: Cally and George are both guilty of this. Maybe it’s the everyday struggle to put bread on the table and clothes on backs or settle the bills that clouds the bigger picture until, gradually, we drift apart. Only when we open our hearts and our mouths and talk about the sorrows we share and the fears that haunt us, can we speak of our hopes and dreams for the future.

 When I started writing this story I had a clear picture of where it was going: a neglected, motherless child who strives against all the odds to make a happier future for herself despite her having a cruel stepmother and a father suffering from guilt and depression. I wanted Cally to be strong and clever and like the willows her mother talks about: they bend but they don’t break.

 George, a collier, has thoughts as black as the coal he hews, and through him I tried to convey the struggle that all miners had during the 1920’s when the industry was plagued with dangerous working conditions, low wages and strikes. As for Annie; she is unkind, but one could almost pity her given the circumstances that led to her marrying George.

 All this I had planned, but as Cally grew older the story seemed to write itself. I began recalling things my mother had told me about her own younger days; working in service and public houses, and later about her own marriage. When it got to the part where Cally’s son Richard dies, I found myself writing my mother’s words, almost verbatim, as I recalled her telling me about the death of her first child, my brother, Trevor. I rarely cry when I’m writing, but I did then.

 At this time in my life, I feel blessed. I have always been a writer, but I never imagined that other people would read and enjoy my stories. Now, with the love and support of my family and the dedication of my agent, Judith Murdoch, and the wonderful team at Aria Fiction, I am living the dream. 

About the author

 Born and raised in West Yorkshire, Chrissie trained to be a singer and cellist before becoming a teacher. When she married her trawler skipper husband, they moved to a little fishing village in N. Ireland. Chrissie is passionate about history and that passion and knowledge shine through in her writing. The Girl from the Mill is her debut novel.

Follow Chrissie:

Twitter: @WalshChrissie

 Facebook: N/A

Pre-order links:

 Amazon: https://amzn.to/33BmVaY

 Kobo: https://bit.ly/33FbfEj

 Google Play: https://bit.ly/33vGEJb

 iBooks: https://apple.co/32ej2HV


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