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- Finding Your Hero: Guest Blog by Louise Allen
- The Reader Writer Connection: Guest Blog by Sue Moorcroft
- The Amateur Sleuth: Guest Blog by Lesley Cookman
- Confessions of a Country House Tour Guide: Guest Blog by Nicola Cornick
- Romantic Series: Guest Blog by Sarah Mallory
- Jane Austen: Emotion in the Shrubbery
- Do you speak Oz? Guest Post by Janet Gover
- YA Heroes: Deliciously Bad? Guest Post by Pia Fenton
- Romantic Comedy — Guest Post by Alison May
- New Heyer Stories? Guest Post by Jennifer Kloester
- Handcuffed? Research? Guest Post by Patricia McLinn
- Fantasy research: sweat the small vampires? Kate Johnson guests
- Katie Fforde & Research: Guest Blog
- Sugar tongs at dawn? Elizabeth Rolls guests
- Gritty Saga Research: Jean Fullerton guests
- Elizabethan York without Dung? Pamela Hartshorne guests
- Love among the Thrillers: Alison Morton guests
- My Hairy-Chested Hero : Guest Blog by Christina Hollis
- Veronica the crafty companion : Guest blog by Judy Astley
- Writer’s Pet? Sort of — Guest blog by Catherine Jones
- Puppy Love : Guest Blog by Jane Godman
- Am I surviving the writer’s survival kit?
- Jenni Fletcher guest blog : the writer in lockdown
- Before The Crown there was a love story
- Yikes, I’ve won the Libertà Award : Guest Blog by Kate Hardy
Our latest guest blog comes from multi-published author Catherine Jones, who also writes as Kate Lace and Fiona Field. Like many writers, she has domestic pets but she’s writing about something different here. Catherine’s “pets” are wild and wacky. Not as wacky as Joanna’s pet troll.
Catherine’s excuse is that she’s always been interested in wildlife. Even when she was in the army (a long time ago) she would spend her time on battlefield tours searching for the local flora and fauna rather than paying attention to the details of the tactics used to give Johnny-Foreigner “a damn good thrashing”. [Her words, not ours!]
Catherine’s “pets”, as she explains below, are…
I have always liked hedgehogs — who doesn’t? Apparently they were voted the nation’s favourite animal which means that Great Britain is obviously a country of taste and discernment.
For several years running, after we moved to our current house, we had families of hogs and hoglets tramping through our garden.
And then we didn’t.
Hedgehogs had started to become scarce. There is a direct coincidence between the numbers of a species you see dead on the roads and their density of population: dead badgers are now commonplace and squashed hedgehogs are a rarity. So I am keen to do anything I can to help them survive.
To this end, my kids gave me a hedgehog house.
I was delighted. I imagined grateful hedgehog families measuring it up for carpets with alacrity and moving in.
It was ignored.
For two years.
I rang the local wildlife hospital to see if I might be considered to rehome a hedgehog. They nearly bit my hand off — more so when they discovered I live nowhere near any badgers and in a cul-de-sac.
“And did we,” they asked, “have holes in our fences to allow the hedgehogs to wander between gardens?”
I didn’t add that they had been caused by my husband being a bit too gung-ho with the fireworks one year! I didn’t think that would be a point in our favour.
What was I expecting? I imagined I’d be asked to take one, maybe two, hedgehogs. But we were actually given a crate of five.
My husband instantly knocked up a few more houses for them out of some old bits of ply.
These plywood houses … yup, a hedgehog’s idea of a very des-res.
But do hedgehogs stay “rehomed”?
I was warned that after release I might never see any of them again. Apparently they’ll snarf the food and then be on their way. I obviously provided food that was more than acceptable and a couple hung about. I saw them regularly over the next few months.
We have since rehomed a further ten hedgehogs.
The posh house, as far as I know, has never been used.
I felt I needed to make the garden more wildlife friendly, not just for hogs, but for other creatures. After all, bees, butterflies and many other things are declining in numbers at an alarming rate. I have installed birdfeeders, I have planted wildflowers, I have let the ivy run riot — the nesting birds love it.
In short, my garden is now a nature reserve.
Well, this is what I tell visitors who point out that foxgloves, ox-eyed daisies, pink campion, wild carrot, Queen Anne’s lace etc are weeds.
Mr Jones’s side of the garden is more ordered. Hopefully the addition of the hedgehogs, the ladybirds, lacewings, a whole slew of songbirds — to say nothing of the occasional visiting fox — means that they won’t just tuck into the buffet of mealworms and bird seed. Perhaps they’ll help themselves to the slugs and snails too.
As they say in the ads — every little helps.
More about Catherine Jones
Must admit that I love the idea of creating a nature reserve and never having to do the weeding again. Masterly 😉
Since Mr Jones (also an army officer) left the forces, he’s had time for that immaculate (and enviable) veg growing. Catherine has got involved with her local town, eventually becoming Councillor Jones, and also volunteering to help in the local nature reserve, The Cuttle Brook. When she isn’t paddling around in the stream looking for cadis fly larvae or counting butterflies, she writes books about life, love, the army and a little market town in middle England. You can find out more about Catherine on her Fiona Field website or follow her on Facebook.
Catherine’s latest book is Little Woodford: The Secrets of a Small Town [click cover for Amazon]
Little Woodford has a sleepy high street, a weekly market, a weathered old stone church and lovingly tended allotments. A peaceful, unexciting place, the very heart of middle England.
In Little Woodford no one has fingers in more pies than Olivia Laithwaite, parish councillor, chair of the local WI, wife, mother and all round queen bee. So of course it’s Olivia who is first to spot that The Beeches has been sold at last.
Soon rumours begin to swirl around the young widow who has bought this lovely house. Why exactly did she leave London with her beautiful stepdaughter and young sons? Are they running from someone? Hiding something? Though if they are, they won’t be the only ones. Sometimes the arrival of newcomers in a community is all it takes to light a fuse…