Spotlight on Rosemary Griggs, author of A Woman of Noble Wit

 

Few women of her time lived to see their name in print. But Katherine was no ordinary woman. She was Sir Walter Raleigh’s mother. This is her story.

Set against the turbulent background of a Devon rocked by the religious and social changes that shaped Tudor England; a Devon of privateers and pirates; a Devon riven by rebellions and plots, A Woman of Noble Wit tells how Katherine became the woman who would inspire her famous sons to follow their dreams. It is Tudor history seen through a woman’s eyes.

As the daughter of a gentry family with close connections to the glittering court of King Henry VIII, Katherine’s duty is clear. She must put aside her dreams and accept the husband chosen for her. Still a girl, she starts a new life at Greenway Court, overlooking the River Dart, relieved that her husband is not the aging monster of her nightmares. She settles into the life of a dutiful wife and mother until a chance shipboard encounter with a handsome privateer turns her world upside down.…..

Years later a courageous act will set Katherine’s name in print and her youngest son will fly high.

Trigger Warnings: Rape.

 

Buy Links:

 Universal Link

¸.•*´¨)✯ ¸.•*¨) ✮ ( ¸.•´✶

 Rosemary Griggs

Fun Facts
(Stuff you may or may not already know!)

Jungle living

For many years our second home was a collection of ramshackle buildings on stilts connected by a walkway, all set in twenty acres of secondary rainforest in Belize, Central America.  There was no road; the only way to get there was by boat across the river. We woke every morning to a chorus of parrots, soon followed by toucans who spent half an hour banging their beaks together in a towering trumpet tree.  Sometimes a group of Montezuma’s Oropendulas, large brown crow-like birds with yellow tails, would tip upside down while making their strange gobbling calls.  A tapir made its home in a pond in the wetland area at the back of the property and at night we heard the kinkajou, known locally as the nightwalker, crashing through the trees. We often found jaguar footprints around the buildings and three times in broad daylight we caught sight of the elusive beast with the strongest jaws of any large cat. There were spiders, scorpions, and every sort of biting insect you can imagine.  But the most dangerous of all was a highly venomous snake, a pit viper called the Feur de Lance, or locally the Tommy Goff.  I soon adopted the local gardening tool of choice, a machete, and just as well I did.   One day I was clearing up beneath our walkway when I encountered the snake with its arrow-shaped head and vivid diamond-patterned back.  I called out to my husband who was in the house up top, but the snake started to rear ready to attack. “Too late,” I cried as my machete flashed through the air and the snake’s head went flying.  Ever after our gardener/handyman/caretaker would always call for me if ever he saw any type of snake,  “Miss Rose, Miss Rose.  Come kill this snake.”  But the Tommy Goff was the only one I would ever kill, and then only in self defence. 

A night with lions

My adventures in the wild were not confined to Belize.  In the mid-1990s we set out on an African Safari.  At our first lodge in Zimbabwe, we narrowly escaped being tipped out of our open Land Rover by a buffalo, hotly pursued by lions.  While on foot we survived an encounter with a group of female elephants. Next, we canoed on the mighty Zambezi where crocodiles shot from the banks right under us.  The safety briefing advised that, should we fall into the water, we must keep absolutely still and wait for the other canoe to rescue us.   On no account must we try to swim for shore!  We were taught to tap the side of the canoe with our paddles to make the hippos, surprisingly the most dangerous of Africa’s big five, poke their heads up.  We could then avoid getting between them and the deep water they would seek if startled. Scary stuff!  But most terrifying of all was our night with the lions.  At the end of a day on the water, our support team would set up camp for us and provide an amazing silver service dinner under the stars before we retired to our tent.  It was a hot night so the side of our tent was rolled up, with only a flimsy fly-mesh between us and the African night.  We woke to terrifying sounds.  Our guide appeared briefly to tell us that we were in for a noisy time.  Lions had made a kill  — probably a buffalo — on the river bank and were calling in the rest of the pride to share it.  All would be well, he said, if we stayed inside the tent. I didn’t need telling twice!  A little later the blood-curdling roars stopped abruptly.  Something was moving beyond the fly-mesh. Shadowy forms of lions were pacing to and fro.  I could smell them.  I could hear their laboured breathing, oh, so close.  We waited, frozen, for what seemed like hours until, as dawn lit the sky, as suddenly as they came they were gone. There were footprints, bigger than my hand all around the campsite. Apparently, a crocodile had stolen their kill and the lions were raging round hoping for a chance to steal it back. I won a prize in a Wanderlust magazine competition for my story of that wild night on the banks of the Zambezi.

As “Auntie Rosemary” I met Dilberta the Elephant and the Gladiators

One of the great things about a career as a generalist in the civil service is that you switch from one Department to another as you climb the greasy pole for promotion. It brings the discipline of researching and assimilating lots of detailed information very quickly, a skill that is invaluable in the research that underpins my writing. One of my favourite postings was to the Department of Environment in the early 1990s  to work on environmental education.  Awareness of “green” issues, things like the ozone layer and climate change, was in its infancy.  I was charged to help engage the public and particularly young people in what they could do to help. I worked with environmental groups to publish guidance. Recycle, re-use, reduce were the watchwords.  As “Auntie Rosemary”, I received entries for a competition to win places at a summit where children could put their questions to the Secretary of State.  I was in the thick of a long campaign to promote the competition which included a visit to the London Zoo with the Minister, to meet “Dilberta the Elephant” (sadly Dilberta is no more) and a photo shoot with  “The Gladiators” who were at the height of their fame as TV stars. My children were so envious!

The Queen at the other end of the Mall

Most of my civil service career was in and around Whitehall, in a range of very different buildings, from old-fashioned brown-doored  “corridors of Power” to state-of-the-art glass-fronted offices in a newly refurbished building with a waterfall at its heart. My first senior civil service posting was to the Cabinet Office at a time when some staff was housed at a very prestigious address —Admiralty Arch.  Actually, the working space was basic in the extreme.  My office was cramped with a window looking out only onto traffic streaming under the arch to continue down the Mall to towards Buckingham Palace.  But it was very handy for lunchtime walks in St James Park and my husband used to joke that there were two Queen’s -  one at each end of the Mall.

Mistaken for a time-traveller

You might think that after a career like that I’d be only too pleased to settle for a quiet retirement pottering in my garden.  But that was not for me.  First, I led tours at magnificent Dartington Hall. Then I started to research and make sixteenth-century clothing to wear as a volunteer at a local National Trust property.  That was where I first met Katherine Champernowne, the subject of my novel.  I now bring this remarkable Devon woman to life for audiences all over the county and use her clothes to open up conversations about how people like her lived.  I usually travel to speaking engagements in full costume— there’s quite an art to getting my farthingale into the car.  On one afternoon after my appearance at a fortified manor house, my long-suffering husband had gone to collect the car. I was waiting beside the Devon lane that runs past the gateway when a car slowed to a stop and the driver wound down the window.  He stared at me for several minutes, open-mouthed, before he stuttered “Are you a Time Traveller?”

¸.•*´¨)✯ ¸.•*¨) ✮ ( ¸.•´✶

 Rosemary Griggs

Rosemary Griggs is a retired Whitehall Senior Civil Servant with a lifelong passion for history. She is now a speaker on Devon’s sixteenth-century history and costume. She leads heritage tours at Dartington Hall, has made regular costumed appearances at National Trust houses, and helps local museums bring history to life.

 Social Media Links:

 Website   Twitter   Facebook    Instagram    Amazon Author Page   Goodreads