First hand accounts - Gold dust for writers
Last night I watched an excellent documentary on BBC4, about the
German bombing of Coventry, sixty-nine years ago. It
featured survivors from that night, ordinary people (or
extraordinary, in many ways) describing their experiences,
interspersed with old film footage showing the resulting
desolation, and convincing dramatic reconstructions. All in
all, the programme was extremely well done, free of hype, and
epitomised what good television should be able to achieve.
It goes without saying that parts were very moving and there were times when I felt myself close to tears. But I was also aware of another side of myself. If I'd had a notebook to hand, I would have been scribbling away (and probably driving my husband mad), because the eye witness accounts and descriptions were pure gold dust for a writer.
One woman described how, as a girl of eight, she and her family cowered in their living room as the bombing went on. One landed close by and blew in their front window, shattering it in the process. Some Irish workers staying in the house next door got them out and went with them to the public shelter. She can still remember the feeling of broken glass under her shoes as she ran, and noticing that all the sky was red.
Another woman's family lived on the outskirts. In the earlier part of the evening, the local warden popped his head round the door to see if they were all right. When the warden called round again, she was shocked at how he seemed to have aged and his face become grey because of the terrible things he'd seen in the space of a few hours. At one stage she broke down, saying that talking about it brought back the fear, that for a moment she felt she was back there again. She recovered, though. 'We were among the lucky ones,' she said. 'We all survived.' On a brighter note, she remembered how a couple of days later, her father went into town, coming back a lot later than expected, and causing her mother to worry. When he did get home, he told them he'd seen the king, who was visiting Coventry to boost morale. 'It gave him such a lift. He said he could have touched him, he was that close.'
Then there was a woman who recalled doing her homework by candlelight in the public shelter as her mother tried to get her two younger brothers to settle to sleep. The atmosphere wasn't too bad at first, but as the night wore on, people started bickering 'over such trivial things'. A lot of people smoked, so that the air became thick, mixed with the stench from the bucket latrines, especially - as she put it - bearing in mind how bodies react when frightened.
That was something that struck me - the moderate, understated language. I can't help thinking that someone from a younger generation would describe similar events in a very different way.
There were so many other stories, far too many to put here. If you do get a chance to see it, I'd urge you to do so. But the point I want to cover here is that it was the little details the survivors dsecribed, that really brought it to life. And they were all just the sort of telling detail we should be including in our writing, especially if it's something outside our own experience.
When Midlands novelist Rosie Goodwin wrote 'Moonlight and Ashes', about the experience of a Midlands family during the Second World War, including the night Coventry was bombed, she talked to local people who'd lived through the event to get the sort of detail she needed. I've read the book and confirm it did the trick.
It's easy to get bogged down concentrating on plot construction, dialogue, characterisation and so on, but it's also vitally important to keep our eyes and ears open amd if possible get people to talk. Such snippets of information can lift a good piece of writing to a great piece of writing.
Right. Where's my notebook?
It goes without saying that parts were very moving and there were times when I felt myself close to tears. But I was also aware of another side of myself. If I'd had a notebook to hand, I would have been scribbling away (and probably driving my husband mad), because the eye witness accounts and descriptions were pure gold dust for a writer.
One woman described how, as a girl of eight, she and her family cowered in their living room as the bombing went on. One landed close by and blew in their front window, shattering it in the process. Some Irish workers staying in the house next door got them out and went with them to the public shelter. She can still remember the feeling of broken glass under her shoes as she ran, and noticing that all the sky was red.
Another woman's family lived on the outskirts. In the earlier part of the evening, the local warden popped his head round the door to see if they were all right. When the warden called round again, she was shocked at how he seemed to have aged and his face become grey because of the terrible things he'd seen in the space of a few hours. At one stage she broke down, saying that talking about it brought back the fear, that for a moment she felt she was back there again. She recovered, though. 'We were among the lucky ones,' she said. 'We all survived.' On a brighter note, she remembered how a couple of days later, her father went into town, coming back a lot later than expected, and causing her mother to worry. When he did get home, he told them he'd seen the king, who was visiting Coventry to boost morale. 'It gave him such a lift. He said he could have touched him, he was that close.'
Then there was a woman who recalled doing her homework by candlelight in the public shelter as her mother tried to get her two younger brothers to settle to sleep. The atmosphere wasn't too bad at first, but as the night wore on, people started bickering 'over such trivial things'. A lot of people smoked, so that the air became thick, mixed with the stench from the bucket latrines, especially - as she put it - bearing in mind how bodies react when frightened.
That was something that struck me - the moderate, understated language. I can't help thinking that someone from a younger generation would describe similar events in a very different way.
There were so many other stories, far too many to put here. If you do get a chance to see it, I'd urge you to do so. But the point I want to cover here is that it was the little details the survivors dsecribed, that really brought it to life. And they were all just the sort of telling detail we should be including in our writing, especially if it's something outside our own experience.
When Midlands novelist Rosie Goodwin wrote 'Moonlight and Ashes', about the experience of a Midlands family during the Second World War, including the night Coventry was bombed, she talked to local people who'd lived through the event to get the sort of detail she needed. I've read the book and confirm it did the trick.
It's easy to get bogged down concentrating on plot construction, dialogue, characterisation and so on, but it's also vitally important to keep our eyes and ears open amd if possible get people to talk. Such snippets of information can lift a good piece of writing to a great piece of writing.
Right. Where's my notebook?
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11 Comments
Visiting the scene of events, even long after, can be very helpful, too, provided you have enough background to sort out and ignore any modern changes.
I had great fun visiting the Sorbonne and finding little details to bring my tale alive. I have also got pages of notes from a conversation I recorded with two survivors of a firebombed restaurant that was one of the worst atrocities carried out during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. That will make a harrowing chapter in the third of my trilogy.
If only I could get some interest in the first book!
Good luck with getting an interest in your book. The fact that you've written more than one will probably help - apparently publishers prefer it if they know you're not just a one-book wonder.
This is where the internet comes into its own, especially as more and more reminiscences, etc, are placed on various websites. Not forgetting TV documentaries such as the one I was describing... Even beyond that, there are are own past experiences. I've written stories based on childhood memories, and those can often be the most vivid - especially if you draw on childhood fears.
Thanks for posting - real food for thought.
Cheers for you Rebecca!
Mike, your comment about the black and white film goes back to the point about the understated way people expressed things back then, and how that could often be more effective than all the hype that seems to be considered necessary today.
SecretSpi - congrats on writing your Dad's bio and tracking down his friend. Will you be giving copies to other relatives? I know someone who's written his memoirs and whenever someone in his family reaches their 18th birthday, he gives them a copy. Did you get your Mum a dictaphone? I tried to get my mum to jot down some of her early memories of growing up in N Ireland while she was still able, but she wouldn't.
Claraw - yes, do look for that documentary. It's bound to be repeated sometime, possibly on the next anniversary. I didn't see the film of The Reader, but I've read the booi, and 'The Book Thief's on my to-read pile.
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