Hello readers!
I am very delighted to be a part of the 'Ross Poldark Blog Tour' and excited to be sharing an excerpt with you today.
Broadcast here on the BBC in early March and on PBS in June, the eight part series based on the first two Poldark novels, has been receiving high praise Indeed.
“If Jane Austen met Charlotte Bronte and they
drank too much port, the Poldark Saga
would be their literary love child.” — Poldarkian.com
Captain
Ross Poldark rides again in the new Sourcebooks Landmark tie-in editions of Ross Poldark and Demelza, the first two novels in the acclaimed Poldark Saga by Winston Graham.
In
celebration, The Ross Poldark Blog Tour
will visit thirty popular book blogs specializing in historical, romance and
Austenesque fiction. Leave a comment on any or all of the blog stops to enter a fabulous giveaway contest! Which includes copies of the books
and a stunning Anglophile-themed prize package.
Ross Poldark
Excerpt from Chapter 6 ~
The shirt she was wearing had old tears in it as well as new, and the breeches were of faded brown corduroy. Her feet were bare, and she had lost the round cap. Her face was pinched and white, and her eyes, a very dark brown, were much too big for it.
“What is your name?” he said.
“Demelza.”
“Your Christian name, though?”
“Please?”
“Your first name.”
“Demelza.”
“A strange name.”
“Mother were called that too.”
“Demelza Carne. Is that it?”
She sighed and nodded, for she was well filled, and the dog under the table grunted with her.
“I come from Nampara. Beyond Sawle. Do you know where that is?”
“Past St. Ann’s?”
“I am going home now, child. If you cannot walk I’ll take you first to Illogan and leave you there.”
A shadow went across her eyes and she did not speak. He paid what he owed and sent word for his horse to be saddled.
Ten minutes later they were up and away. The girl sat silently astride in front of him. Garrick followed in desul-tory fashion, occasionally dragging his seat in the dust or peering suspiciously around to see what had become of the thing he had sometimes chased and often wagged but could not locate.
They cut across the moors by a mining track worn deep and hard and pitted by the passage of generations of mules. The countryside hereabout was entirely abandoned to the quest for minerals. All trees, except an occasional ragged pine, had been cut down for timber, every stream was discolored, patches of cultivated land struggled among acres of mine refuse and mountains of stone. Engine sheds, wooden derricks, wheel stamps, windlasses, and horse gins were its adornment. Trenches and adits grew in the back gardens of the tiny cottages and huts; potatoes were hoed and goats grazed among the steam and the refuse. There was no town, scarcely even a hamlet, only a wide and sparse distribution of working people.
It was the first time he had been to Illogan that way. With the improvement in the pumping engine and the new lodes of tin and copper available, Cornish mining had been going ahead until the slump of the previous few years. People had migrated to those fortunate districts where the veins were richest, and the home population had increased rapidly. In the growing depression of the early eighties, many of the breadwinners were out of work and the doubt arose as to whether the population could be maintained. The danger was not immediate but the specter was there.
The girl in front of him gave a wriggle.
“Could ’ee let me down ’ere?” she said.
“You’re but halfway to Illogan yet.”
“I know. I doubt I shall be going ’ome yet a while.”
“Why not?”
There was no answer.
“Does your father not know you’ve been out?”
“Yes, but I was lended my brother’s shirt and breeches. Father says I must go to fair whether or no, so he says I can borrow Luke’s Sunday f ligs.”
“Well?”
“Well, I ain’t got what I went for. And Luke’s clothes is all muddy. So I reckon—”
“Why did you not go in your own clothes?”
“Father tored ’em last night when he give me a thrashing.”
They jogged on for some distance. She turned and peered back to be sure Garrick was following.
“Does your father often beat you?” Ross asked.
“Only when he’s bin takin’ too much.”
“How often is that?”
“Oh…mebbe twice a week. Less when he an’t got the money.”
There was silence. It was late afternoon and needed another two hours to dark. She began to fumble with the neck of her shirt and untied the string. “You can see,” she said. “’E used the strap last night. Pull me shirt back.”
He did so, and it slipped off one shoulder. Her back was marked with weals. On some the skin had been broken, and those were partly healed, with dirt smeared on them and lice at the edges. Ross pulled the shirt up again.
“And tonight?”
“Oh, he’d give me a banger tonight. But I’ll stay outdoors and not go ’ome till he’s below again.”
They rode on.
Ross was not oversensitive to the feelings of animals—it was not in his generation to be so, though he seldom hit one himself—but wanton cruelty to children offended him.
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen…sur.”
It was the first time she had sirred him. He might have known that those undersized, half-starved waifs were always older than
they looked.
“What work do you do?”
“Looking after the ’ouse and plantin’ taties an’ feeding the pig.”
“How many brothers and sisters have you?”
“Six brothers.”
“All younger than you?”
“Es-s.” She turned her head and whistled piercingly to Garrick.
“Do you love your father?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Es-s—”
“Why?”
She wriggled. “Cos it says you must in the Bible.”
“You like living at home?”
“I runned away when I was twelve.”
“And what happened?”
“I was broft back.”
Darkie swerved as a stoat scuttered across the path, and Ross took a firmer grip on the reins.
“If you stay out of your father’s way for a time, no doubt he’ll forget what you have done wrong.”
She shook her head. “He’ll save un up.”
“Then what is the use of avoiding him?”
She smiled with an odd maturity. “’Twill put un off.”
They reached a break in the track. Ahead lay the way to Illogan; the right fork would bring him to skirt St. Ann’s whence he could join the usual lane to Sawle. He reined up the mare.
“I’ll get down ’ere,” she said.
He said, “I need a girl to work in my house. At Nampara, beyond St. Ann’s. You would get your food and better clothing than you have now. As you are under age I would pay your wages to your father.” He added, “I want someone strong, for the work is hard.”
She was looking up at him with her eyes wide and a startled expression in them as if he had suggested some-thing wicked. Then the wind blew her hair over them and she blinked.
“The house is at Nampara,” he said. “But perhaps you do not wish to come.”
She pushed her hair back but said nothing.
“Well then, get down,” he continued with a sense of relief. “Or I will still take you into Illogan if you choose.”
“To live at your house?” she said. “Tonight? Yes, please.”
The appeal, of course, was obvious; the immediate appeal of missing a thrashing.
“I want a kitchen maid,” he said. “One who can work and scrub, and keep herself clean also. It would be by the year that I should hire you. You would be too far away to run home every week.”
“I don’t want to go home ever,” she said.
“It will be necessary to see your father and get his consent. That may be hard to come by.”
“I’m a good scrubber,” she said. “I can scrub…sur.”
Darkie was fidgeting at the continued check.
“We will go and see your father now. If he can be—”
“Not now. Take me with you. I can scrub. I’m a good scrubber.”
“There is a law to these things. I must hire you from your father.”
“Father don’t come up from ’is core till an hour after cockshut. Then he’ll go drink afore he do come ’ome.”
Ross wondered if the girl was lying. Impulse had prompted him that far. He needed extra help as much in the house as in the fields, and he disliked the idea of handing the child back to a drunken miner. But neither did he wish to cool his heels in some bug-ridden hovel until dark with naked children crawling over him, then to be confronted by a gin-sodden bully who would refuse his suggestion. Did the child really want to come?
“About Garrick. I might not be able to keep Garrick.”
There was silence. Watching her closely, he could plainly see the struggle that was going on behind the thin, anemic features. She looked at the dog, then looked up at him and her mouth gave a downward twist.
“Him an’ me’s friends,” she said.
“Well?”
She did not speak for a time. “Garrick an’ me’s done everything together. I couldn’t leave ’im to starve.”
“Well?”
“I couldn’t, mister. I couldn’t—”
In distress she began to slip off the mare.
He suddenly found that the thing he had set out to prove had proved something quite different. Human nature had outmaneuvered him. For if she would not desert a friend, neither could he.
Book to film adaptations can be great, as we know from Pride & Prejudice 1995. However to truly understand and appreciate the depth of a story, alongside what the author is trying to convey, the book must be read and this chapter certainly had me wanting to read more!
Giveaway!
Two
lucky winners will each receive one trade paperback copy of Ross Poldark and Demelza, and one grand prize winner will receive a prize package
containing the following items:
(2
) Old Britain Castles Pink Pottery Mugs by Johnson Brothers
(1)
Twelve-inch Old Britain Castles Pink Pottery Plater by Johnson Brothersr
(1)
London Telephone Box Tin of Ahmad English Breakfast Tea
(1)
Jar of Mrs. Bridges Marmalade
(1)
Package of Duchy Originals Organic Oaten Biscuits
(2)
Packets of Blue Boy Cornflower Seeds by Renee's Garden Heirloom (1) Trade
Paperback Copy of Ross Poldark & Demelza, by Winston Graham
To
enter the giveaway contest simply leave a comment on any or all of the blog
stops on the Ross Poldark Blog Tour until 11:59 pm PT,
August 10, 2015. Winners will be drawn at random from all of the entrants and
announced on the Buzz at Sourcebooks blog on August 13, 2015.
Winners have until August 20, 2015 to claim their prize. The giveaway contest
is open to US residents and the prizes will be shipped to US addresses. Good
luck to all!
THE ROSS POLDARK BLOG TOUR SCHEDULE:
Blurb ~
In the first novel in Winston Graham’s hit series, a weary Ross Poldark returns to England from war, looking forward to a joyful homecoming with his beloved Elizabeth. But instead he discovers his father has died, his home is overrun by livestock and drunken servants, and Elizabeth—believing Ross to be dead—is now engaged to his cousin. Ross has no choice but to start his life anew.
Thus begins the Poldark series, a heartwarming, gripping saga set in the windswept landscape of Cornwall. With an unforgettable cast of characters that spans loves, lives, and generations, this extraordinary masterwork from Winston Graham is a story you will never forget.
Blurb ~
In the enchanting second novel in Winston Graham’s beloved Poldark series, Demelza Carne, an impoverished miner’s daughter Ross Poldark rescued from a fairground brawl, now happily finds herself his wife. But the events of these turbulent years test their marriage and their love. As Ross launches into a bitter struggle for the right of the mining communities, Demelza’s efforts to adapt to the ways of the gentry (and her husband) place her in increasingly odd and embarrassing situations. When tragedy strikes and sows the seeds of an enduring rivalry between Ross and the powerful George Warleggan, will Demelza manage to bridge their differences before they destroy her and her husband’s chance at happiness?
Against the stunning backdrop of eighteenth century Cornwall, Demelza sweeps readers into one of the greatest love stories of all time
As always I delight in hearing your thoughts!
