A few words about Jacquie James

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“It was not that long ago it first occurred to me
That my mother was a person in her own right.
And now I realise how very lucky I have been
And there, but for the grace of God, go I, go I.”*

My Mum – Jacquie James – is 70 years old today. I could write thousands of words about her but the thirteen hundred or so that I’ve done will have to do and I’m well aware that it won’t even scratch the surface of Jacqueline Muriel Alexander James nee Walker.

You may not know this – though a select band of you will – but Jacquie James is amazing woman. Born in London just after the World War II she was brought up in Clifton in Bristol where her father Frank Walker was a professor of geography at Bristol University. One of my earliest memories is travelling to Bristol on the train with Mum to visit my grandparents at their home on Lansdowne Road in Clifton. I can remember falling asleep on the train and waking up in the enormous house where they lived during term times. We went to Bristol a lot when I was growing up – it’s my home town and though I’ve never felt like a Bristolian in any way, shape or form I used to love going there and some of the happiest memories from my childhood are of the times I spent in Bristol with my extended family.

Mum trained as an Occupational Therapist in the 1960s down in Devon and having moved over the Severn Bridge to the Vale of Glamorgan, before I began school and then during my school holidays she used to take me out with her on visits up into the South Wales Valleys and all across South Wales where I met children of my own age with profound disabilities and in doing so gave me insights that to this day I am grateful for. I’m not sure the occupational therapist of today would be allowed to do what Mum did but it and I have so many happy memories of travelling with her over the top of the valleys in her Renault 4 and then her weirdly coloured Ford Escort chatting away and listening to Radio Wales – Mum is a naturalised Welsh woman – it’s an old family joke but it’s a statement of truth.

“When I was a teenager I really did believe
That my parents had adopted me.
And the way I carried on they must have thought
They’d brought the wrong little baby home from maternity.

I’d like to say I’m sorry but my
Mother dear, she already knows.”*

Mum has suffered from rheumatoid arthritis from an early age and I know that there have been times when she has really struggled with this but she never let this affect the way she was with me or my sister Cathy even when I was being a normal child and behaving in a horrible way towards her – she always let me know that she loved me and would always be there for me and she always was – save for that time when I got dumped by a girlfriend and she went off on holiday to Malta with Dad.**

Mum has a gift for anything craft related that she puts her hand to – in her time she amongst many, many things she’s had a go at, has knitted, made lace, made things out of glass that are beautiful and she does these all these things with seemingly no effort. She’s also done flower arranging and was a member of an arranging group over in Bristol which led to one of my favourite conversations that we had about popular culture.

What you need to know about my Mum is that she doesn’t really do popular culture – she was a teenager in the 60s as was my Dad and their record collection had one EP by The Beatles in it – one!?! Her and Dad were always more into classical music and jazz so for her to have heard of a pop group is a rare event – I reckon that when it comes to the bands I’ve liked over the years she’d be able to name New Order, Happy Mondays*** and Super Furry Animals. Anyway I digress, this is how the conversation went down:

Mum: “I was at flower arranging over in Bristol the other night.”

A disinterested me: “Oh yes.”

Mum: “One of the other members, her son is in a band.”

Me: “Oh right.”

Mum: “I think they’re quite famous, have you heard of Portishead?”

Me: “What?!?!? Portishead?!?! Mum, they’re only one of my most favourite bands!!! Who is her son?”

Mum: “I’m not sure, I don’t know her surname.”

And we never found out who the son was – but I love my Mum for being so blasé about such things.

One famous person she did meet was Jimmy Savile – she was a student at the time and he kissed her and whenever we sat down to watch Jim’ll Fix It back in the day she’d always comment that Savile was horrible person. Mum’s always know.

Mum is one of the most selfless people I have ever met – I’m always surprised when I ring home and actually get her on the phone. She is on the board of charities, helps people out with offers of support and amazing meals and travels the country to visit places she’s never been to before and places that she knows and loves such as North Yorkshire where her parents had their home and where we as a family spent our summers long before it became ‘Heartbeat Country’. This year she’s been to the Netherlands to visit a jazz festival and only last week she flew up to Edinburgh to meet her pen pal Susan from Seattle who she’s been writing to for over 50 years.

One of things that I’ve been really proud of Mum and Dad for doing is that they fight battles at their local church – they were always pro-women priests and in doing so they showed to me that despite their apparent conformity to middle class norms and standards they can be quite radical in their outlook on life and relationships and that’s something which has cost them friends at times and there are people who don’t talk to them anymore because of the things they’ve fought for. You might say well they are better off without those people and you’re right they are but sometimes it takes courage to take the stands that Mum has done over the years and I’ll say it again I’m proud of my Mum – she doesn’t take shit from anybody.

We’ve had our rows and silence over the years and they’ve been humdingers at times but as I grow older and my sons are turning into young men my appreciation of what she did for me when I was their age impresses me more and more. She didn’t say “No” just to annoy me or stop me having fun, she did it because she loved me, wanted me to be safe and wanted the best for me and surely that’s all you need from your Mum.

I still need my Mum every now and again.

“If I ever get arrested by the C.I.A.
Because they take me for a foreign spy.
They won’t need no lie-detector, all they’ll have to do
Is make me look into my mother’s eyes
And I’ll tell them anything they like.”*

*Taken from The Divine Comedy’s song ‘Mother Dear’ – written by Neil Hannon. See it here: 

** Okay so I was 20 at the time but I was still upset.

*** I still owe my Dad £25 for a trip to see the Happy Mondays up in Manchester back in 1990 – I know, £25 for the concert ticket and bus up there from Cardiff – those were the days!!!

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A review: Mo Hayder – Wolf

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Firstly thanks to the lovely people at Random House UK for sending me a copy of Wolf to read and review. 

Wolf is the ninth book by Mo Hayder, the seventh one to feature DI Joe Caffery and the fifth one to feature the Walking Man who has been a recurring character in Hayder’s work since she relocated the Caffery character down to Bristol. 

Caffery is a policeman whose brother was abducted by a paedophile gang when they were young boys and Caffery has been obsessed about what happened to his brother ever since. Previous books have given both Caffery and the reader tantalising hints about what happened to the young boy but as Wolf starts Caffery it seems is no nearer finding out what happened to him. 

The Walking Man walks with the aim of finding the burial site of his murdered daughter, she too was abducted by a paedophile who the Walking Man took revenge on and served time in prison for. Thanks to the death of one of the gang who took his brother and her will Caffery has worked out that The Walking Man visits another member of the gang who took his brother and pleads with him to arrange a visit in prison so he can speak with him in one last attempt to find out what happened to his brother. The Walking Man agrees on one condition… 

The concurrent storyline that takes place in Wolf involves the family of a scientist who fourteen years previously to the book’s story saw the daughter’s ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend killed in a most horrific manner. Following a series of incidents in their garden the family become convinced the killer is somehow out of prison and at their home and when two policemen arrive at their isolated house to inform them that the woman who lives at the bottom of the hill has been murdered in an identical way to how the two victims were fourteen years previously the family’s worst fears are realised. Or are they…? 

Wolf is a genuinely uncomfortable read in places, there are scenes of torture, humiliation and the murder that took place fourteen years ago is quite horrific. Not everything is quite as it seems and whilst Hayder lets bits of the story out in scenes throughout the book to explain what is happening and why there is still enough held back at the end for it to be a surprise. 

My main issue with Wolf is that it all seemed a bit too easy in the end. Both the storylines tie up nice and simply thanks to some late found evidence in a episode that further develops the caring side of Caffery following an earlier love scene in the book that showed how lovely he is and then the final sections in the scientist’s house just felt like a bit of a let down following the genuine tension of what had preceded it. 

The conclusion to the book appears to be Hayder drawing a line under certain aspects of the Caffery books and should that be the case then maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. I enjoy Mo Hayder’s books greatly and Wolf was no exception but my recommendation comes with a caveat about that ending.