Leaving Europe: we’ve done that before

Leaving Europe: we’ve done that before

In 225AD a tall fair-haired woman called Julia Aurelianus lives in a pretty townhouse in Aquae Sulis (modern Bath). Julia is an independent woman of means, a cultured high-status aristocrat and a healer who works at the clinic attached to the temple of Sulis Minerva. She is an educated, sophisticated citizen of the Roman Empire, living nearly two hundred years after the Roman invasion of Britain. She believes the Roman Empire will last for ever. But at the same time, she is a proud Durotrigian, with deep roots in a British identity, and a leading role as a tribal noble.

Julia has a past, which she keeps hidden from her family and friends. It involves a fellow Roman citizen, from a faraway corner of Europe. He comes to work in Britain as a very young man, but has to go home when his family needs him. One day many years later the foreigner comes back, now a seasoned traveller with a high-profile pan-European career and secrets of his own. Julia has to make choices, and decide who she really wants and who she will be.

Julia of course has never existed beyond my imagination, in my current novel Governor’s Man: The Bronze Owl. But she could have done. Her generation was so long part of the Roman Empire they could not have conceived of life outside it. And yet she lived happily within the traditional culture of her British tribe, too. It was a time of multiple identities, and people seem to have accepted that as natural. It was not the first time the people of these islands have been part of a wider European culture, but it was the first time in British history that being part of a continental community, being a European, was recorded for posterity.

Rome wasn’t all straight roads and central heating. People moaned about taxes, complained about European bureaucrats, often demanded reform. Even so, for four hundred years after Boudicca’s rebellion very few Britons apparently wanted to give up their Continental way of life, their standard of living, their dual identity as Romano-British.

When the inconceivable happened sometime after 410AD and the union was dissolved, leaving Britain facing a hostile world alone, the British certainly had a tough time. Hundreds of years of tough times: the Dark Ages. Some Romano-Britons in the south-west of England defended their European identity for nearly three hundred years before their civilisation was swept away. Today we call their most prominent war leader Arthur.

For me, the importance of Julia’s story is that being British doesn’t mean not being European. Doesn’t have to mean rejecting a bigger, more diverse community for the sake of false national pride. It isn’t about closing down borders, turning our backs on the Continent, shutting out foreigners. We can be proud Britons and committed Europeans, working together for peace, prosperity and wider community. We should think again about remaining a key part of something significant, and not lose our way in the world.

We should reject a return to the Dark Ages.

Walking with a million friends

Walking with a million friends

After three years of Brexit, it’s easy to feel jaded, worn out and helpless. Whichever way you voted in the referendum of June 2016, I’ll bet my Grandma’s best black hat you didn’t think you were voting for the mess we’re all in now. It would be so easy to give up, to throw our hands in the air and join the many who are saying, ‘I want it all to go away. Just get on with it.’

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Another chilly morning on the streets

Another chilly morning on the streets

Another year, another #PeoplesVote Day of Action.

Peggy and I were once more canvassing with MalvernforEurope in our local village, Colwall, at the western foot of the Malvern Hills on Saturday 12 January.

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A day in the life of a pro-European activist (and her human)

A day in the life of a pro-European activist (and her human)

8A2DAF55-512E-4036-AE94-86F424681149It’s nearly Christmas. So here in the UK that means festive conversations and convivial gatherings around the issue of the hour…Brexit.
This is me, Jacquie Rogers, writer, pro-European, and member of Malvern for Europe. Wearing a silly EU beret.

And this is Peggy, three months old. Definitely in charge. Wearing a peggy in gilet jaunecanine gilet jaune. Together we canvassed for the People’s Vote in Great Malvern today.

We learnt a lot. 

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Why I won’t be doing NaNoWriMo this year.

Why I won’t be doing NaNoWriMo this year.

I don’t often write about political events, either here or in my travel blog

This blog is intended for those who love reading, and might like to follow my writing and publications. Nevertheless I won’t apologise to you, my readers, for diverting today a little way down the murky paths of UK politics. But you are deserving of an explanation, so here goes:

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Swan song for Swanwick70

Swan song for Swanwick70

If you’re dead or live on Mars, you may not have heard of the Swanwick Writers’ Summer School. Being neither a Martian, nor moribund (last time I looked), I was already aware that Swanwick is the oldest independent writing school in the world. But it’s taken me several years to take the plunge as a delegate.  I assumed it would be packed full of published authors, all knowing each other.  I pictured myself sitting forlorn in a corner, ignored by the great and good, and then slinking away to my room, knowing myself to be right at the muddy bottom of the literary food chain.

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Who’s not afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Who’s not afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Readers who’ve been following our adventures through our travel blog will know that husband Peter and I have recently returned from six weeks haring round Europe on our trusty motorbike. What with finishing off the account of that long trip through twelve countries, unpacking, washing, ruefully surveying our moribund garden, and generally catching up, I expected to find myself at a loss for this latest writing blog post.
Then the topic of this blog arose on its own, and I felt I must write a little about a subject that I frequently ponder. In a way, it’s that eternal question: What is literature? Or, better put in my mind, What makes a story a story?

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