Saturday,
the second day of July, in the year of our Lord, 1644, will be a day long
remembered by the men and women committed to ending the reign of a tyrannical
King. For on this day, the forces of Charles the First were crushed on the bloody
fields of Marston Moor.
The calamitous defeat forces the increasingly desperate Royalists to intensify their attempts to bring about the immediate demise of their Parliamentarian enemies. This includes devising an audacious plan to assassinate the man they believe is key to the war’s outcome.
With the plotters ready to strike, Francis Hacker, one of Parliament’s most loyal soldiers, becomes aware of the conspiracy. With little time to act, he does everything in his power to frustrate their plans. But, alas, things start to unravel when brave Hacker finds himself pitted against a ruthless and cunning mercenary, a man who will resort to anything to achieve a ‘kill’.
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Fun Facts
Philip Yorke
My painful Hull City rejection
While I have been writing all my adult life, my childhood ambition was to become a professional footballer – and play for my hometown club, Hull City. I have been a fan of the Tigers since I was six years old, and I was taken to my first game against Queens Park Rangers. To put things into perspective, I must say from the outset that I have no footballing skills whatsoever – but that didn’t stop me writing to the club when I was ten and offering my services. Two weeks after I had penned my plea, a reply popped through my letterbox. It was from the Club Secretary (who in those days was quite a senior person) and it said: “Dear Tony. Many thanks for writing to us and offering yourself as our new centre forward. While we are flattered to have received your proposal, we are unable to accept it, for in football, we contact you – and make you the offer – not the other way around! Good luck for the future.”
I
was naturally devastated, for even though I was utterly useless as a
footballer, I am sure there was talent buried deep within. All I needed was the
right kind of encouragement…
I am terrified of flying
The thought of flying fills me with dread, so much so that I have only flown on a jet on eight occasions in my life – and these were eight occasions too many! Ever since I was able, I have chosen to drive everywhere, even to mainland Europe, much to the frustration of my family who roll their eyes every time the subject of a holiday is mentioned! Yet, for some, my aversion has been a distinct benefit: In the 1990s, I was offered the chance to work for a large US newspaper. The job sounded really promising, and I was even prepared to consider flying across the Atlantic for an interview. However, my interest died the moment I discovered the role involved using domestic flights in the US up to three times a week. When I told the paper I was not going to proceed, they couldn’t quite believe my reasoning. But hey-ho, I have no regrets. Shortly afterward, I was offered the opportunity to attend the 1996 Olympic Games in Atlanta for a week-long stay. Alas, my fears got the better of me and, much to their delight, a colleague benefitted. Do I have any regrets about my aviation inhibitions? Nope!
Riding a bike without “due care and attention”
When I was seventeen, I used to cycle everywhere. Yet my love of two-wheeled transport almost got me killed. One day, after I had visited a friend in a nearby village, I was involved in an accident with a car at a notorious ‘blind spot’ – a place where cars appear out of nowhere around a bend in the road. The crash damaged my shoulder and wrecked my bike. A policeman told me I was lucky to be alive, such was the damage to the vehicle. He then recommended I went to hospital and get patched up. Immediately after he told me this, he officially cautioned me and said he was going to be bringing charges against me, as I was the cause of the crash. This he duly did, which resulted in me making a court appearance and being found guilty of “riding a pedal cycle without due care and attention”. The court punished me by imposing three penalty points on a driving licence I didn’t possess (and wouldn’t for a further ten years). But I learned a salutary lesson: be wary of smiling police officers!
I occasionally play practical jokes
Uncle Jim always walked his dog twice a day – first thing in the morning and last thing at night. One day, when I was a child and staying with him and my Auntie Kathleen, a wicked thought popped into my head; it was something along the lines of ‘why don’t I swap all the sugar for salt?’
My
uncle liked three heaped spoons of sugar in his tea when he got back from the
walk, and on this day, after I had engineered the swap, every spoonful looked
like a mini mountain! As he positioned his mug by his lips and took an almighty
swig a huge grin spread across my mouth. This turned into explosive laughter
when Uncle Jim’s face went crimson red, his cheeks became drawn, and he then
spat out the foul-tasting liquid. But the ejection wasn’t a dignified affair.
Oh, no; far from it. The explosion I witnessed that wonderful day was like a
volcanic geyser exploding; the tea travelled the entire length of the kitchen
before spattering against the brilliant white wall and leaving an almighty
stain. As soon as he had got the tea out of his mouth, Uncle Jim looked at me
and said: “I am going to kill you, you little bugger!” That I am alive today is
testimony to him not being a man of his word.
I can be quite gullible
Being a journalist and writer, confessing to being gullible is probably not a good thing. But I am. There is no point in denying it.
My
gullibility started at an early age, with my Auntie Jessie, a woman I loved
dearly.
Auntie
Jessie was short in stature, not glamorous in the slightest – and she had a
heart of gold. So, when I asked her what she did in the First World War, I was
not expecting her to say: “I flew airships and won the Victoria Cross by helping
to keep enemy planes at bay.”
My
aunt never lied; the truth was sacred to her. So, I naturally believed her. And
several times a year I would ask her to recount her wartime adventures in her
airship as she fended off Nazi attacks and saved the city of Hull from total
catastrophe. I did this for the best part of fourteen years, and every time, the
stories became more embellished – with Auntie Jessie becoming a greater heroine
than the likes of Amy Johnson (another aviator from my hometown). To me, she
was a goddess.
It
was only when I reached the age of nineteen, or possibly twenty, that Auntie Jessie gave
up the pretence. We were playing cards one night when the subject wandered
into the past and I asked her to tell me more about her exploits. By now, she
was into her eighties. And even though she was one of the kindest people I have
ever known, it didn’t stop her from giving me a withering look and saying: “My
goodness, what kind of pillock are you?”
The
memory still makes me chuckle.
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Philip Yorke
Philip Yorke is an award-winning former Fleet Street journalist who has a special interest in history. His Hacker Chronicles series, to be told in five fast-paced historical fiction novels, tells the story of Parliamentarian soldier, Francis Hacker.
Redemption, the second book in the series, is set during the period 1644-46 (during the first English Civil War) when events take a significant turn in favour of Parliament.
Philip is married, and he and his wife have five children. He enjoys relaxing to classical music, reading the works of Nigel Tranter, Bernard Cornwell, Robyn Young, and CJ Sansom, and supporting Hull City FC and Leicester Tigers RFC.
He lives in Leicestershire, England.
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