Friday, November 15, 2024

💻🎄Blogger Review🎅💻: Once Upon a Second Chance Davidson King



Summary:

Once Upon a Holiday Story #1
Can two men weighed down by their pasts find a future with each other?

Daniel Laverton is a wealthy man who was born into privilege. His family helped build Everlasting Springs, and he spends his days ensuring it prospers. The town is in his veins, the love he has for it keeping him there, happily. In his big house on the top of a hill he resides—just him, his cat, and his past. With middle age knocking at his door and the holidays approaching, loneliness is creeping in.

Aaron Darwin is used to struggling. He lives a moment at a time, traveling in his not-so-trusty car, going from place to place and looking for work. When a huge storm looms, Aaron’s luck goes from bad to worse and his vehicle decides to die. With no shelter, very little money, and a town ahead that is closing down, Aaron has no idea how he will get through this impending disaster.

Perhaps it’s the jingle bells in the air or his own solitude, but there’s no way Daniel can leave the man stranded. When he takes a reluctant Aaron in to hunker down and ride out the storm, the two get more than they bargained for. It is easy for them to see all the reasons they shouldn’t work and overlook all the ways they do, but it is holiday season in Everlasting Springs, a time for miracles and second chances. A time for two lonely men to realize they’ve already received the best gift for Christmas: each other.

Once Upon a Second Chance is a part of the multi-author series Once Upon a Holiday Story. Each book can be read as a standalone and in any order. What links these books together is The Hook’s Book Nook Traveling Library, a library on wheels owned by two old ladies in love.



A full-on Christmas novella from Davidson King?  Yes, please!!!  King has written holiday tales before, most of them happen to be established series entries with some mention of the holiday within the book.

**Side note: for anyone who knows me knows that as a Die-Hard-is-a-Xmas-movie person that also means books with even the tiniest mention of the holiday puts that book in the holiday column.**

Okay, side note made now back to Once Upon a Second Chance.  Those familiar with King's work knows that she is 99% of the time all about the mayhem and she's darn good at it but she has a sweet side too and Second Chance is proof of that.  Is Second Chance a bit too holiday sweet? Never! Because lets face it, if you can't be all about the sap at Xmas than there is no acceptable level of sap that works😉.  Don't get me wrong, my previous statement might make it sound like I think sap can be bad, quite the opposite, I love a good happy happy tale but it has to be done right and boy does King do it right!

Daniel and Aaron are the making of a Hallmark Channel formulaic tale but there is so much more to it and frankly, 150 times better than the HEA holiday romps the channel of love puts out.  Trust me, I've seen more than I really need to as my mom is a sucker for the channel(so much so that when she was in the hospital in 2021 for 108 days, she was known as "the Hallmark lady" on 3 different floors).  Daniel comes from money, Aaron does not but Daniel is so much more than his bank account. He is the kind of man we all wish our community had, a man who helps others without thinking twice about doing so and yes his money allows him extra freedom to do so but it's often not the money that does the helping but the heart behind it.  Aaron on the other hand is nearly out of funds and his car breaking down near Everlasting Springs as a storm approaches might be fates way of telling him that he doesn't have to do everything alone anymore.  

The storm may be the set up but it is a character in itself IMO.  We all gripe about Mother Nature's evil ways but sometimes she knows what she's doing.  I don't want to spoil anything but I gotta say(in hinty ways to lessen the spoil) Davidson King shows just how snowstorms(expected or unexpected - and I've experienced more than my share of both up here in wilds of Wisconsin) can be devastating beyond the typical.  Snow can be heavy and when it's heavy there are more dangers than the inches(or feets) on the road or the ice underneath and unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your outlook, Aaron discovers that all too well. It has to do with his car, I've never experienced it but I've seen it, not the first thing you expect but hindsight often shows you differently.

Okay, I'm rambling as I'm a little rushed for time(not that you'd know it by the wordage😉) so I'll say simpler: Once Upon a Second Chance is a lovely holiday gem and I can't think of a better way to kick off my holiday reading. There's chemistry, humor, hard times, good times, laughter, passion, friendship, romance . . . let's face it there is everything but mobs, sci-fi, and the kitchen sink . . . oh wait, I believe Aaron does the dishes so the kitchen sink is even here😉.  Davidson King's entry is part of a multi-author series that is only connected thru The Hook’s Book Nook Traveling Library so there is no right or wrong way to read the series and I know I look forward to discovering the other authors' entries.

One last personal note, I want to say a huge Thank You to Davidson King for making me smile with this holiday story.  After a less than positive week for many Americans, I made myself pick this book up and start it even though I had real no desire to so at the time.  Within just a few pages, I found myself letting go of current events and smiling again and realizing that keeping oneself going is the best way to deal with what is in front of us.  So again, Thanks, Davidson King you and your words never fail to brighten my day.

RATING:




Chapter One
Daniel 
The alarm blared at six a.m., as it had every morning of my adult life… maybe even before then. I really should have simply retired the thing since my internal clock always woke me ten minutes early. 

I pulled the covers off my body, sighed, and sat up. Through my bedroom window, I could see the gray sky foreshadowing the upcoming storm. The weather stations were all saying it was going to be a doozy, and I wanted to be sure my businesses in town were secure so I wouldn’t have to stumble out into the snow later in the evening. 

My morning routine was muscle memory at this point. After a quick stop to the bathroom, I went downstairs, where coffee awaited me. I fixed it the way I liked it and prepared for the day, which included setting up beef stew in my slow cooker. 

At forty-five, the cold weather was beginning to get to me. My bones ached from the breeze alone as soon as I opened the front door. We got all four seasons here in Everlasting Springs, so enduring the winter months was par for the course. 

It was mornings like this I was happy my Mercedes had heated seats. 

The roads were clear— thankfully, the last snowfall we’d had was over a week ago. First stop was Laverton’s Grocers. I’d grab a few essentials and check on the staff while I was there. 

“Good morning, Mr. Laverton,” Gracie, one of the cashiers, greeted me as I entered. 

“Morning, Gracie. Are you all set for the storm?” 

“Oh, yes. John got the firewood in last night, and we’re stocked up. I just need to pick up some gas for the generator on my way home.” 

I nodded. “Very good, say hi to John for me.” 

I moved through the store, grabbing all I needed, smiling at the little Christmas stocking stuffers on the endcaps. I stopped at the door marked Manager, and knocked. 

“Mr. Laverton, morning.” Gary was the store manager, and he did a damn fine job. He was in his late thirties with light-blond hair and the kind of face that put you at ease the moment he graced you with his pearly whites. 

“Hey, Gary. Just popping in to see if everything was good to go before the storm.” 

“We’re great. I’m closing the store an hour earlier like you suggested to make sure the staff all gets home.” 

“Perfect, and if you see the storm starting to roll in early, close up.” 

“You got it.” 

Once I’d completed my grocery store run, I stopped at Laverton’s Hardware followed by Laverton’s Diner… yeah, my family had built this town, as evidenced by the names on a lot of the stores and restaurants. 

Sometimes it made me itch to see my name on so many buildings, but I’d mentioned that to my accountant, who also lived in Everlasting Springs, and he’d said it was actually a comfort to see every day, that it felt like the town was looked after. So, I kept the names.

My housekeeper and cook were always given a few weeks off for the holidays and with the impending storm, I’d simply extended their vacations.  Even so, they’d still prepared some meals for me and stored them in the freezer, but I also knew how to cook, so I wanted to make sure I had everything else I might need and once I did, I made the trek back to my house. 

I lived in a rather big house. I didn’t need all the space, but honestly, it was just how I was raised so it might be huge, but it was home. 

It was a three-story, colonial-style mansion originally built by my great-great-grandfather.… Well, he’d designed it, anyway. The brick façade featured a stately columned portico; dormer and Palladian windows; and one of my favorite places to relax in the warmer months, the second-story veranda. With Christmas only two weeks away, the lights and wreaths adorning the property made my home even more beautiful. 

Through the years it had been upgraded. I’d had an elevator put in, which made it easier when my mother visited as she adored the veranda as well. It had a southern charm in a northeastern area. 

Once my car was in the garage, I carried my bags into the house, removed my winter coat, turned my Christmas tree lights on, and put everything away. The house smelled heavenly as the aroma of the stew permeated the air. 

A gentle brush against my leg brought a smile to my face, and I looked down to where my roommate, a.k.a. cat, was rubbing against my leg. 

“Well, hello, Mayhem.” I kneeled and scratched her head and chin. She plopped to the side— clearly standing so long was taxing— and I caressed her silky fur. 

Mayhem was a tortie. Dark brown, blond, orange, and white kaleidoscope of fur made her the prettiest cat ever. I’d never really wanted a pet, but when Beth over at the animal shelter said there was a runt kitten and no one wanted her, my heart had cracked a little and I’d offered to foster her since they were running out of space. That was a year and a half ago, and now she was mine. 

“Yes, I got food for you, your favorite treats, and made sure I had enough litter for your litter box.” 

She batted at my hands and gave me playful nibbles. She was the company I needed during the times loneliness became too much. 

I had family, but my sister was in California with her husband and my nephew. She’d moved there two years ago, the moment a huge opportunity was offered to Frank, her husband. My father had passed away of a heart attack five years ago, and my mother found being in Everlasting Springs to be too hard for her. She’d moved with my aunt to Florida, relishing the warmer weather. 

There’d always been a Laverton living in Everlasting Springs and while I could have relocated closer to my sister or mother, I wanted to be here. The townsfolk were like family, and at the end of the day, it was home. 

Her ears must’ve been burning, because a second later, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from my sister. 

“Well, hello, Katherine.” 

“Why do you say my name like that?” 

I chuckled. “I was just thinking about you, and you called. I always knew you were a witch.” 

“Har-har. I was thinking about you; I see that storm coming in on the news. They say it’s gonna be rough.” 

“Aww, are you worried about your big brother?” 

She snorted. “No, but that house has been in our family for generations. I want to secure my son’s future.” 

I knew she was kidding. While we were all very well-off, our parents had raised us not to let money become who we were. Kate stayed at home with my thirteen-year-old nephew, Josh, and helped me remotely from her house. Frank was a doctor… well, a surgeon— pediatric cardiology, and I was certain Josh was financially secure. 

“Your son? What if I have a child someday?”

That got her laughing. “You’d have to actually date people to make that happen. Well, I mean, even if you found someone, a man can’t have the baby, so actually, yeah, why not find a surrogate?” 

“Wow, okay, this conversation went to weird places. I only just got comfortable having a cat.” 

“Mmhmm. Look, you’re forty-five. Ticktock, big bro.” 

I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. I got this every so often from her and my mom. They didn’t want me to be lonely, thought I should have a family. They’d never cared that I was gay; they even embraced it. But I knew pretty much everyone in Everlasting Springs. The pool wasn’t that big. 

“I really love these tender calls we share, Kate.” 

“Blah, blah. Okay, I gotta get Josh off to practice. Stay safe, text to keep me updated. Love you, jerkface.” 

“Love you too, butthead.” 

I disconnected the call, and Mayhem meowed. 

“Okay, sweetie, let’s get you fed.”





Davidson King
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.


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Once Upon a Second Chance #1

Once Upon a Holiday Story Series


📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: Pigboats by Edward Ellsberg



Summary:

It’s 1914 and war has gripped the world…

Lieutenant Thomas Knowlton awakes after a night of heavy drinking with Hans Erhardt, a German P.O.W who has been interned at the neutral port of Manila.

Much to Knowlton’s dismay, he soon realises he’s missed his Submarine. It had left without him!

Baker an inexperienced sailor and friend of Knowlton’s, covers for his absence. However, without Knowlton to do his duty, the submarine sinks to the ocean floor, with all those on board perishing inside.

What is Knowlton to do? He’s has been presumed dead, as well as being the presumed cause of the tragedy for not doing his duty. If he’s found to still be alive he would certainly be court martialled and executed.

To make things worse, he sees Erhardt has stolen his uniform and is boarding a Dutch liner to make his way back to the war.

This was all Erhardt’s fault!

He now goes by the name of Tom Knowles and has been making a living as a hard-working, hard-drinking riveter in shipyards around the world.

He has been doing well for himself.

Soon, however, he hears about a German U-boat, U-38 that has been targeting and wreaking havoc among neutral American merchant vessels. This particular U-boat appears to be captained by none other than Hans Erhardt…

It can only be a matter of time before the U.S.A enters the theatre of war and Tom Knowles can enact his vengeance…

After a series of brave feats of ingenuity and horrific experiences at sea, he once again finds himself captaining a submarine and going head to head with the figurehead of his anger.

The detail and depth of emotion present in this chilling and claustrophobic tale in enthralling. A story of heroism and revenge in the harshest of conditions. A must-read for anyone with an interest in the history of the First World War, or any fan of Naval history. Commander Ellsberg’s attention to detail and bleakly realistic storytelling are simply brilliant.

Praise for Edward Ellsberg
done in high adventure style’ – Kirkus Reviews

'Authentic material in a good yarn' - Kirkus Reviews




CHAPTER I 
Three blasts of a deep-toned whistle echoed over Manila harbour, rattled the windows in the Hotel España. The whistling ceased, a siren shrieked out its wailing note. The Dutch steamer Willemstad, lazily churning up the water, headed out for Batavia. 

Sprawled on the bed in a room on the harbour side of the España, Thomas Knowlton, Lieutenant, U.S.N., stirred slightly as the windows rattled under the first blast, then relapsed into a stupor. The repeated rattling of the windows stirred him again. Subconsciously the whistle seemed to penetrate into his drunken sleep; to wake in him a vague reminder that his place was on deck when a ship was getting underway. He rolled over, stared aimlessly about the unfamiliar room. The siren shrieked. Its piercing note cut through his numbed senses, brought him staggering to his feet. 

Knowlton clung uncertainly to the bedpost, stared out the window, with an effort focused his eyes on the clock in the distant cathedral. Ten minutes of two. He brushed his free hand across his eyes, trying to sweep away the mist that fogged his brain. Afternoon! And at seven in the morning, he should have been steaming out of the harbour himself with the C-3 and her sisters of the second flotilla for submerged manoeuvres! 

Vaguely he considered that. Missed his ship. Tough break. That new flotilla commander was hell on discipline. The pigs had been too free and easy. Commander French was just waiting to hang someone to bolster up the morale in the force. Missed his ship. And the old man was just aching for a chance to yank someone up before a court. 

Knowlton let go the bedpost, struggled across to the washstand, poured out a glass of water, gulped it down. Unsteadily he filled the basin, soaked his aching head in it. Missed his ship. What in hell had he been doing? Why was he here? 

With an effort, he recalled a little, looked vacantly at the rumpled bed. Where was Erhardt? His eyes wandered around the room, searching. Nowhere. And yet he remembered vaguely that Erhardt had accompanied him to this room, suggested that they take it for the night instead of going back to their ships. 

Well, he’d been a fool. It was all right for Erhardt to drink like a fish, but he should have known better. Erhardt didn’t have to go to sea. His ship was anchored out there off Cavite for keeps, — well, anyway until the war ended. What difference did it make to Erhardt how much he drank? It had been two months now since, with the shells from a British cruiser exploding round her stern, the Cormoran had barely escaped into neutral Manila, and Erhardt and his ship had been interned. Damn lucky for them too. The limeys or the Japs had sunk all the other German raiders in the Far East. No neutral ports handy for the Emden to intern in when the big cruisers finally got her within range. A rusting wreck she was, out on Keeling Island. 

Lieutenant Knowlton looked hazily through the window.

Yes, there was the Cormoran, swinging idly at anchor, the white and black Imperial insignia fluttering at her staff, her brightwork glistening against the dull grey of her war colour. He remembered — he had had dinner there with Erhardt last night, friendly little dinner, just Lieutenant Knowlton, skipper of the U.S.S. C-3, and Herr Lieutenant Hans Erhardt, captain of S.M.S. Cormoran, unfortunately interned in a neutral port and a prisoner of the United States till the war ended — if it ever did. Knowlton remembered how Erhardt had chafed at that — interned with the war only four months old. Since October 1914. And his shipmates in the High Seas Fleet straining behind the minefields at Helgoland, preparing for Der Tag, near now, when they should surge forth and, with gun and torpedo, wreak havoc on the hated British Fleet. And here was he, Herr Lieutenant Erhardt, till the war ended, interned in the Far East! Was it not too bad? Another drink, my friend. Hoch! Had not the British always been their enemies? Drink again! Possibly America would join Germany to fight again for the freedom of the seas? Another glass. If so, then America would release his ship; Lieutenant Knowlton would be his brother in arms! Hoch der Kaiser! Hoch President Wilson! Boy, another bottle of champagne! What, his friend shook his head? America would not join in the battle to overthrow England’s tyranny, baffle her attempts to keep Germany from her rightful place in the sun? Too bad. With sword and submarine Germany would be victorious anyway. Hoch! Boy, more wine!

Somehow Knowlton remembered they had come ashore in Erhardt’s gig, they had had other things to drink. He had protested, he must take his boat out for manoeuvres, one must be careful when there is the responsibility of a submarine to operate. What had happened to his will? Erhardt had dragged him from club to bar, from bar to club, and finally had suggested this room in the España for the night, so that Lieutenant Knowlton might have a rest and be well prepared to take his boat out for manoeuvres in the morning. 

In the morning! Here it was two in the afternoon and a court-martial to face. Knowlton looked dizzily for his companion. 

No use. He was certainly alone. Erhardt had left. Probably back on the Cormoran. Damn him! What difference did it make to anybody when Erhardt got back to his ship? He had no manoeuvres to take part in, no flotilla commander to face. 

But Lieutenant Knowlton! He shook his head wearily, soaked it again in the washbasin. He might as well face the music. Tough. The C-3 was his first command. Probably lose it, go back as second on a tiny spit-kid a thousand miles up some God-forsaken Chinese river. 

He staggered back to the bed, sat down heavily on it, looked around for his clothes. There they were in a heap on a chair near the door. He measured the distance uncertainly, then cautiously worked his way around, leaning first on the bed, then on the wall.

With an effort, he put them on, found a little difficulty in buttoning the jacket, clapped on his cap. The jacket pinched his arms, the cap seemed to perch on top of his head. It must be an illusion, he told himself; his head couldn’t possibly have swelled that much, no matter how it ached. To reassure himself, he looked in the mirror over the washstand, then sank back on the bed, thoroughly befuddled. Those were not his clothes; that was a German naval cap, a set of German shoulder marks. He fumbled again with the buttons — German. This was Erhardt’s uniform! 

Knowlton rose, cursing violently. Erhardt was gone, his uniform was stolen, he began to see a light. Rising from the bed he maneuvered cautiously round to the window, stared out over the harbour. 

There, just disappearing beyond Cavite was the Willemstad, a Dutch ship bound for a Dutch port. And aboard her, in the guise of an American naval officer, was Erhardt in his clothes, escaping from internment on the first leg of his way back to Germany. 

Lieutenant Knowlton slumped back on the bed, discouraged. Another specification for the court-martial to hang him on — aiding the captain of an interned man-of-war to escape internment and engage again in hostilities against nations with which the United States is at peace. He could hear the judge-advocate reeling it off at the court. Guilty or not guilty? Viciously Knowlton knocked off the German cap, buried his head in his hands, gazed occasionally at the rapidly fading ship.

Slowly the minutes went by, the Willemstad cleared the harbour. Knowlton collected his thoughts with an effort, wondered what had happened when Commander French from the C-1 ordered the flotilla to get under way and the C-3 reported no skipper to take her out. He could imagine. Ensign Baker, his “makee-learn” second, a mighty nice boy. Just five months out of the Academy. Didn’t know much about subs yet, but a very loyal assistant. Baker’d wait till the last minute, giving him every possible chance to get aboard before his absence had finally to be reported. Tough on Baker, having to report his own skipper. And Commander French! Knowlton could see him working up the charges in his mind, even while he ordered the other boats to get under way, leaving the C-3 behind. 

The unfortunate officer groaned aloud. He dropped his arms, rose painfully, looked out toward the anchorage off Cavite, trying to make out the C-3. His bloodshot eyes were unable to see clearly that far. He might as well start back. His eye fell on Erhardt’s cap, white against the dirty matting on the floor. No, he couldn’t go back in those clothes. Bad enough without that. He fumbled in the pockets, drew out some bills, pawed over them clumsily. Nothing missing. At least Erhardt had left all his money. 

A racket in the street below. Knowlton shoved the money back into his trousers, leaned out the window. The shrill cries of newsboys, dashing wildly down the street, pedestrians eagerly buying papers. Shouts. Something lost! Well, what of it? He drew back.

What’s that? Submarine lost! 

As if jolted by an electric current, Knowlton stiffened up, seemed to sober suddenly. Hatless he ran for the door, dashed down into the street, tore a paper from a. newsboy. 

SUBMARINE C-3 LOST WITH ALL HANDS! Knowlton’s glazed eyes scanned the details. C-1, C-2, C-3, C-4, out for flotilla manoeuvres submerged. The other boats had started back, the C-3 had failed to rise. No answers to signals. The tenders were dragging over a spot where a stream of bubbles was rising. Very deep water there. About three hundred feet — too much pressure for a boat like the C-3. All hands were undoubtedly dead. Commander French, flotilla commander, had already cabled the names of the lost crew to the Navy Department. 

The paper dropped from Knowlton’s nerveless hands. First on the list, LOST WITH THE C-3, was Thomas Knowlton, Lieutenant, U.S.N., Commanding Officer!



A submarine captain clashes with one of his crew during World War I.

Release Date: April 25, 1933
Release Time: 101 minutes

Director: Jack Conway

Cast:
Robert Montgomery as Lieutenant Thomas Knowlton, USN
Walter Huston as Lieutenant Commander T. J. Toler, USN
Madge Evans as Joan Standish
Jimmy Durante as "Ptomaine", the cook
Eugene Pallette as "Mac" MacDougal
Robert Young as Lieutenant Ed "Brick" Walters
Edwin Styles as Flight Commander Herbert Standish
John Lee Mahin as Lieutenant "Speed" Nelson
David Newell as Lieutenant Radford
Sterling Holloway as Seaman Jenks











Edward Ellsberg

Rear Admiral Edward Ellsberg returned to active service with the navy the morning after Pearl Harbour, after a life of hazardous adventure in salvage operations, during which he won the United States Navy’s Distinguished Service Medal. He thereby became the first man to gain the award in peacetime. At Massawa he raised the two Italian Floating Docks, in spite of expert opinion that it was impossible. Later he served as Principal Salvage Officer under General Eisenhower in North Africa and afterwards in the Normandy Invasion. Rear Admiral Ellsberg was awarded the C.B.E. by His Majesty King George VI, and two Legions of Merit by the United States Government.


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Film
👀At this time it looks like the best chance of finding this
film is to keep an eye on streaming services or TCM👀
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⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine(Friday Edition)⏳: Awfully Glad by Charlie Cochrane



Summary:
WWI hero Sam Hines is used to wearing a face that isn’t his own. When he’s not in the trenches, he’s the most popular female impersonator on the front, but a mysterious note from an anonymous admirer leaves him worried. Everyone realizes—eventually—that Sam’s not a woman, but has somebody also worked out that he also prefers his lovers to be male?

When Sam meets—and falls for—fellow officer Johnny Browne after the war, he wonders whether he could be the man who wrote the note. If so, is he the answer to Sam’s dreams or just another predatory blackmailer, ready to profit from a love that dare not speak its name?

Original Review February 2015:
A nice little tale of war, post war, romance, and a bit of "what's he after?" thrown in for good measure.  Sam is such an interesting character but as himself and as Madeline, who brought such joy to the men during the war.  Now that the war is over and he's put Madeline behind him, he is reunited with one of the men he met after one of his Madeline's shows.  I just love watching Sam trying to figure Johnny out and what he's after.  Of course, there's a bit of "if they just communicated" but then the story would be even shorter and where's the fun in that?  Definitely a great addition to my library and once again, I was not let down by the writings of Charlie Cochrane.


Re-Read Review November 2018:
Not much more I can say about Awfully Glad that I didn't say when I originally read it back 2015.  Watching Sam and Johnny navigate the whole "is he or isn't he" debate is just as fulfilling as it was over three years ago.  Like I said before, if they just communicated more clearly so many answers would have been discovered but then not only would that make this little gem way too short but not very accurate either.  Nobody wants their nose broken if they got the assumptions wrong and it was also illegal to be in a homosexual relationship so its no wonder they were edging around the question.  Once again Charlie Cochrane has proven her respect for the era as well as her respect for her readers with her storytelling in this little gem.


2nd Re-Read Review November 2020:
Not much to add that hasn't already been said so I'll just reiterate that Charlie Cochrane's love of the era shines through in all the tiny moments.  Don't get me wrong, they shine through in the big moments too but it's the small details that some might "forget" or don't fully research that make her one of top 1-click authors and her WW1/post-war stories are some of my absolute favorites.

RATING:




A makeshift stage. An audience. An entirely male audience, in khaki. A high sense of anticipation. The Macaronis concert party about to perform. Music starts, curtain is pulled across—to an outbreak of applause—revealing a group of men in evening dress, who take up the tune. The show begins.

They’d reached the part where the comic had finished his rendition of “Gilbert the Filbert,” leaving the stage to guffaws of laughter and thundering applause, and the tenor had come on to the opening strains of “Roses of Picardy.” The audience settled down, lulled by the familiar tune but with the first buzz of expectation starting to rise. They’d been briefed about this concert party by a couple of the officers whose friends had seen them perform before. So far, the advance information had been correct—good singing, good jokes, a couple of things slightly near the knuckle but not going too far.

And now, the much-vaunted and long-awaited “Roses of Picardy.” That song could only mean one thing—the imminent appearance of the lovely Miss Madeleine.

Second Lieutenant Hampson nudged his fellow officer in the ribs. “She’s on her way. I wonder if she’s really as hot a piece of stuff as they say.”

Lieutenant Browne shrugged. “I hope so. I’ve been looking forward to this a long while.”

An agitated “Shh!” from somewhere along the line of spectators put a stop to conversation as the tenor’s rendition of the verse began. The holding of breaths within the audience became palpable, especially when the curtain to one side of what passed for a stage twitched slightly. The chorus came, and with it Madeleine, gorgeous in a lavender dress to match her eyes and a sumptuous hat, worn at a coquettish angle. An outbreak of wolf whistling, a single shout of “Cor!” and more “Shh!”s, mainly from the colonel in the front row who’d leaned forward to get a better view of the trim ankles that appeared as she sashayed across the stage.

“What a peach,” Hampson whispered, staring up at the stage, spellbound.

“Not bad at all.” Browne tipped his head to one side to set up a better line of observation of the trim waist, the pert backside, and the well-proportioned décolletage. Those curves were just what you wanted in a woman.

The song came to an end among rapturous applause, whistling, and stomping of feet. The tenor kissed Miss Madeleine’s hand and led her upstage, where she prepared for her solo, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously at the colonel. She looked like a nice girl, dressed like a nice girl, was rumoured to have no truck with any of the officers who beat a path to her stage door, but there was a roguish twinkle in her eye which belied all of that.

The first few bars of “Home Fires Burning” welling up from the small orchestra stifled any expectations of a saucy song to match the saucy twinkle. Her voice was clear, bell-like, incredibly moving. By the time the song had finished, sleeves were being drawn across faces and noses blown. Even Hampson, who had never been known to show much in the way of emotion—apart from getting worked up over a shapely, slim-waisted form—had a tear in his eye.

“Marvellous,” he said, clapping wildly. “And think. We’re the lucky blighters who’ll get to meet her afterwards.”

Browne laughed. “She’ll never look twice at you. Not with that shock of hair—she’ll think a scarecrow’s come in.”

“Is it that bad? Could you lend me a comb?” Hampson tried—in vain—to flatten his locks into submission.

“We’ll have you turned out like the Queen of the May.” Browne grinned. “Now hush.”

Madeleine had been joined by the tenor for a haunting love duet, one which soon had the audience thinking of home and happier times, far away from trench foot and whiz-bangs. They’d be back to that soon enough, but for now they had a glimpse of something heavenly, and not just in the form of Madeleine’s shapely arms.


Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.

Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.

Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.


EMAIL:  cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com