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While I’ve been writing Guardians of the Circles, my Neolithic Historical Fantasy series, I’ve had to do a lot of research. The one thing I’ve noticed most is the number of plants, trees, and animals that I take for granted as British… but they’re not!

Photo by Amee Fairbank-Brown on Unsplash

The most obvious one is the Rabbit. Is it British? No. The Romans may have kept them as pets, but they were introduced from Spain and France in the 11^th or 12^th century. The nearest native species we have is the Brown Hare, which is now relatively rare in the UK.

Other historic arrivals are the Fallow Deer, brought from mainland Europe by the Normans, and the Grey Squirrel, which was introduced in the 19^th century from America.

We’ve lost a lot of species throughout history, too.

The Eurasian Lynx was once common here, as were the Brown Bear and the Elk. The last known wolf in Britain was shot in Scotland in 1743, though there have been some suggestions of reintroducing them.

We take Chestnut trees for granted here, yet they arrived with the Romans, and Horse Chestnut was not planted here until the 16^th century.

Other plants have become a nuisance. Wherever you are in the world, I’m sure you may have come across Japanese Knotweed, an invasive plant that can take over extensive areas of ground very fast.

Even here, on the Isle of Lewis, sitting on the edge of the Atlantic and 50 miles from mainland Scotland, we have our invaders. Though the Hedgehog is native to the UK, they do not belong on these islands. They were brought in by folks wanting them to eat the slugs and insects in their gardens, but they like birds eggs too. Not a problem when the birds nest in trees, but most of our birds are ground-nesting because of a lack of trees!

Another thing that is becoming a common sight here is Gunnera Manicata.

This plant looks like some kind of giant, aggressive rhubarb. The stems are spiky and can grow to over 2 metres tall, with huge leaves at the top. Birds spread the seeds and, although they were not introduced here until the mid-1800s, they are popping up everywhere. We had one that set itself behind our barn, and it took me over an hour to dig out!

Right, I’m off to shut the chickens in for the night. (They came, originally, from tropical south-east Asia.)

Oh! Before you go, I have some news for you. A new virtual Book Fair entitled “A bright, cold day in April” is available. Lots of titles to choose from, all free. Take a look HERE!

D J Eastwood

Our lives today revolve around time. We’re always looking at the clock, wondering if we’re late or early. Figuring out if we have time.

Our Neolithic ancestors must have had a very different concept of time. They would have had busy times in their calendar and quiet times. The spring would have been hard work, getting the land cultivated, possibly using wooden tools or picks made of deer antler. Once the grain is sown, though, there’s a lot less to do. Likewise, the harvest would have been a rush to get the ripe grain cut, stacked, and protected from the winter weather.

It would have been a busy time after they slaughtered an Ox, or the hunters brought in a big kill, perhaps a deer or an aurochs.

There would have been quieter times, too, but none of it would have been dictated by the clock.

They could push a stick into the ground and watch the shadow it cast slowly turn sun-wise, but it didn’t rule their day.

The Greeks’ first water clocks were still 2000 years in their future, and the first mechanical clocks another 1500 years after that. Their important markers of time were, the year, the moon (month), and the day. There was dawn, noon, sunset, and that was it.

We know they had time to spare, though.

A civilisation that worked non-stop would have no time for luxuries. Yet, they found time to decorate their pottery with beautiful patterns, time to weave cloth and cure leather. They had time to carve intricate stone balls, ornaments, for no practical purpose has been identified for them.

Most of all, they had time to get together and pool their labour to build immense circles of stone.

Stonehenge is, perhaps, one of the last of the megalithic structures to be built in Britain. Its huge dressed sarsen stones, placed in a circle, with the massive capstones set on the top, symbolises the most outstanding Neolithic achievement. Yet, its purpose was, in part, to mark time.

Photo by Ankit Sood on Unsplash

There are clear alignments that point directly to the midsummer sunrise and, in the opposite direction, to the midwinter sunset — important points in their calendar.

Now, It’s time for me to feed the poultry, then there’ll be time to read for a while before dinner.

I hope you’ve got time to do what you enjoy today.

Until next time,

D J Eastwood

Oh, by the way, you’ve all seen this offer, I know, but I’ll include a link to this month’s promotion as it ends in just over a week.

It’s a Fantasy & Science Fiction Giveaway! Take a look. There are over 160 titles, and they’re all FREE!

My own offering, Talisman of Fire, is in there, so if you haven’t got your copy yet, dive in. You may find your next favourite author here.

PS. There’s also the chance to win 50 Amazon bestseller eBooks.

Click HERE to take a look.

First, my apologies if you’re in the southern hemisphere where, in fact, autumn is coming… but I’ll let you use your imagination.

The cycles of the year must have been significant to our ancient ancestors. Their entire lives revolved around the seasons. In summer, the crops would grow, livestock would be well fed, and food plentiful. As autumn approached, they would gather in the grain harvest, and they might think about preserving food. The wheat or barley would be stacked and covered with thatch, ready for threshing and grinding as they needed it. Berries could be dried for storage, and surpluses of meat either salted or dried into jerky. They would turn the summer glut of milk into cheese to eat through the colder months too.

As winter approached, and stock feed and grazing became more scarce, the final animals would be slaughtered, and the tribes would settle in for the cold months. It wouldn’t be practical to travel far when the weather was cold, so they’d have been confined to their home villages. Houses varied in size, but many were roundhouses little more than 5 metres (16 feet) in diameter.

We find spring’s new growth to be a beautiful time, but our ancestors may not have seen it like that. This was the hungry gap. Preserved food would run low. Perhaps the barley crop had not been enough, or the preserved meat had spoiled. Hunting would be an option, but even wild animals are thin and hungry in early spring. Not until roots and tuber grew, and the earliest young pigs were fit for killing, would they be able to breathe a sigh of relief.

There’s a term that I’ve heard from North America, Rabbit Starvation, that appears to come from trappers in earlier centuries. The body actually loses condition if forced to live on a pure, lean protein diet over winter. We need carbohydrates and fat in our diets, and winter game is short of fat. In one of my stories, the main character breaks open the long bones of a winter kill to get at the fatty marrow within, hoping to stave off this rare form of protein poisoning.

Our lives now have so much less in the way of cycles. Foods are available, close at hand, all year long. I remember, as a child, that eggs were much rarer and more expensive in the winter months. Now the hens have electric light to fool them into laying whenever the farmer wants them to.

Next time you go shopping for food, think about which foods on display are produced in your area and in what season. That way, you’ll get some idea of how limited our Neolithic cousins’ diets might have been.

I’ve got a new promotion of free books for you this month. March Forward is a free book giveaway with over 160 titles available. Click on the link to look through the array of fantasy and sci-fi stories on offer.

But that’s not all! There’s also the chance to win 50 Amazon best-seller fantasy titles too. Take a look now.

March Forward: Fantasy & Science Fiction Giveaway.

Until next time, take care.

D J Eastwood

At the end of the Guardians of the Circles prequel, Talisman of Fire, Albyn and Geth settle at a place called Classac on the Long Islands. At the beginning of book one, in the same series, we find them still there, 30 years later.

My inspiration for the setting of my stories, especially Classac, is a place called Callanish, on the Isle of Lewis, off the west coast of Scotland.

On top of a hill, overlooking a sea loch, stands a ring of weathered standing stones, erected 4,500 years ago by a culture we know so little about. This was the late Neolithic, and people had settled, grown grain, and farmed cattle and pigs for over 1500 years. This was the culture that built most of the megalithic structures in Britain.

The Callanish stones comprise a stone ring with a central megalith, itself weighing about 7 tonnes. There are short rows of standing stones to the east, south, and west, and a double row of stones, forming an avenue to the north.

Various people have claimed astronomical alignments for the stones. It’s hard to imagine that they didn’t have some such purpose. Why go to all that effort if it was just for decoration!

What is incredible about Callanish, though, is that it is not alone. Within a few miles of the ‘main site’, known as Callanish I, are at least 15 more identified stone circles, or megaliths. This was a place of great importance to the ancient residents of the island.

Visible from Callanish I, and just a short walk away, are two more circles. Neither is as grand as the hilltop structure, but both have their own charm. Callanish II comprises an ellipse of stones; five still standing, and two fallen, just a few hundred metres from its neighbour.

Callanish III sits on a hilltop, close to the public road, and comprises an outer ring of 13 stones, eight still standing, and an inner circle with just 4 remaining stones.

When you consider that this culture had no metal tools, it would be a marvel that they built one circle. To erect so many, even if it was over many years or centuries, is impressive.

These are the people that inspired me to write the Guardians of the Circles books. I hope you’ll be as fascinated by them as I was.

D J Eastwood

P.S. If you’ve read and enjoyed my novella, Talisman of Fire, please consider following this link here to leave a rating or a review for the story.

Thank you.

Writing is a strange pastime. You plan and plot, spend hours researching, then write for weeks or months. When you’re done, it’s a mess. There are mistakes and plot-holes, the dialogue is terrible; the ending is not good enough.

You edit it and edit it again. Finally, you show it to some people you trust, your beta-readers. They point out all the things you missed, plus a load of suggestions that need to be addressed.

Months, perhaps years, after you began your journey, you finally have something you’re satisfied with. You format it and send it to Amazon…

Then it’s gone. The thing that has been your constant companion for so long is no longer there. You’re alone.

It’s strange sending your ‘child’ out into the world. You do not know how they will fare, but it was time to let go.

Well, that was me just before New Year 2021. The manuscript of The Apprentice Tattoo was out there for all to see, and I was left with… well, I was left with the two prequels I’d started while I was waiting for beta-readers to get back to me.

If you’ve read The Apprentice Tattoo, you’ll remember Spirit Messenger Albyn, guardian of the great stones of Classac. Well, in my head, he always had a back-story. So Talisman of Fire was born, telling of Albyn’s early life, and how he came to be at Classac.

You might also remember Spirit Master Yalta, guardian of the stones of Stanna. I wanted to know about her life before Stanna, too. That spawned the novella, The Turning Stone, telling of her journey to step into her power.

I’ve decided to make a gift of these two books. With that in mind, I’ve put Talisman of Fire into a joint promotion with forty other free stories, under the umbrella of History and Mystery.

Look through the dazzling array of covers and find one, or more, you like. Click on them, and you’ll be taken to a download page. Choose as many as you like. I’m pretty sure there is something for everyone.

Oh, and the good news is, once you’ve got Talisman of Fire, you’ll find a link to download your copy of The Turning Stone inside!

Follow the link to go to the History and Mystery giveaway, HERE.

D J Eastwood

I write the stories I want to read. I enjoy the process, and I hope that the finished book brings enjoyment to somebody else. But the writing itself is a cathartic process.

I suffer from depression. It’s not a constant thing, mostly seasonal, and not nearly as bad as some others I’ve known, but it’s there. I can control it, mainly by taking vitamin D3 supplements and using a SAD lamp.

The thing is, on the bad days, when I don’t want to get up, or can’t be bothered to shower, I can write. It’s a process that gets my mind going, takes me away from my problems (real or imagined) into another world.

I can go from a cold bedroom, while the wind whistles outside, to a roundhouse in Neolithic Britain with my characters. The very best thing is that in that world, I’m in control. I tell the characters what to do next. I decide if they succeed or fail.

Now, I’m not suggesting that everyone should rush out and write a novel, though I’m sure many of you could. I’m suggesting that the process of writing something down helps.

My better-half had a hip replacement three years ago and went from being an active woman to being virtually bed-bound for much of the day. The worst thing, though, was the pain. Despite the success of the operation, she was in excruciating nerve pain, from historic spinal damage, for many months. Drugs helped a little, but when the pain was at its worst, she began writing a journal. All the things that she thought, but couldn’t say, even to me, were noted down. Then she found the time to note down the things she was thankful for at the end of the day. A nice dinner, getting the feeling back in her toes, anything that she was grateful for, was written in her notebook. It helped her. Now she’s back to being the functioning, busy woman she loves to be, she still looks back at that journal, and it still helps.

Now, it’s entirely possible that doing anything creative will have the same effect. Still, my experience is with the written word. I know friends who can achieve the same thing by painting, and I’m sure that sculpting, woodworking, or needlework would have the same outcome. What seems essential is having something to exercise your mind, and your hands, that takes you away from your problems.

* * *

As many of you will know, I published my novel, The Apprentice Tattoo, just before the New Year. It’s getting modest attention from the book-buying public.

I’ll have exciting news later in the week about some freebies that could be coming your way if you’re subscribed to this newsletter. Keep an eye on your inbox!

D J Eastwood

So, our annual feasting is over for another year. All the turkey has been curried, the last remnants of the Stilton have been evicted from the fridge, and the final sprouts have been surreptitiously scraped to the sides of plates.

It’s a long tradition. The feasting, not the sprouts! There have been mid-winter festivals throughout human history. In Britain, Christmas was predated by the Saxon Yule and the Roman feast of Saturnalia. But go back further, and you’ll find that our Neolithic cousins celebrated too.

There are significant alignments to the solstices at Stonehenge, and at the timber henge of Durrington Walls, long thought to be the living space for those who built or visited these sites seasonally.

Excavations at Durrington Walls have, so far, revealed over 38,000 animal bones, 90% of them from pigs, the rest mostly from cattle. Based on the assumption that these animals were spring-born, many were slaughtered at nine months of age… mid-winter.

Further research, known as stable isotope analysis, gives some clues to where these animals were raised, and it wasn’t at Stonehenge. People travelling to the site might have been expected to contribute to the feast, and brought animals with them, either driving them overland, of carrying them in boats.

These pigs and cattle seem to have come from as far away as west Wales, the north of England, and even northern Scotland. Many of the pigs’ feet are charred, a sure sign of spit-roasting.

So we’re getting a picture in our minds of people gathering from all over the country, bringing their livestock, and having one serious party at mid-winter.

Remnants of the dominant type of pottery from the Neolithic period, a style known as Grooved Ware, have also been found at Durrington Walls, and still show traces of milk products. There is an assumption that our ancestors were lactose intolerant, so maybe these pots were used to produce cheese or yoghurt products.

So there you have it. Relatives gathering from all across the country, bringing food and gifts. The biggest feast of the year, with roast pork, beef and cheese. There would have been foraged vegetation, nuts, dried berries and perhaps the last of the stored crab-apples. Gathering around a fire at the darkest time of the year, to lift their spirits.

There is, of course, no archaeological evidence of any family feuds – but you never know!

D J Eastwood

“I’d be obliged.” A harmless phrase, asking if someone could do something for you.

If they do what you asked, you might consider that you have an obligation to them in return. Perhaps you would give a small favour back, now, or later. Nothing serious… right?

Now if we think back to the Neolithic, the setting for The Apprentice Tattoo, obligations would be much more serious things. There is no currency, just barter. If you take goods from someone, you give them something of equal value, or you have an obligation to them. If they save your life, do you owe them a life? Do you owe them your life?

Then there’s the understanding that travellers will be housed and fed if they turn up at your door. As always, the Greeks have a word for it. Xenia is the assumption that you will provide food, and house a stranger in your own home. He, or she, must return the favour, should you ever visit them.

I’ve imagined something similar for the tribes of ancient Britain. As Col and Talla travel the length of the country, every village takes them in and feeds them, giving them a warm bed for the night.

There’s an obligation on the visitor too, of course. They must behave in a way that doesn’t inconvenience their host.

When food becomes scarce, because of the changing weather, Col and Talla try to gauge if the hosts can afford to feed them, avoiding villages that seem to be struggling. They hunt instead of becoming a burden.

This tradition persists in many places, I’m sure. In the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, visitors to the house are always offered refreshment. Not just a cup of tea, but sometimes quite substantial snacks. Sandwiches, cakes and biscuits are offered, sometimes quite forcefully, to the visitor. It is impolite to refuse the food and drink offered. The host must feed you, you are obliged to eat!

This was explained to me, many years ago, when I lived in Caithness. A visitor had probably travelled some distance to see you and, before the 1950s, had walked. After the visit, they must walk home… so you feed them.

There was a joke about incomers, mostly the English, that you would only get a ‘fly cup’ if you visited. In the north-east, a fly cup is tea served without a saucer, you’re not expected to be there long enough to put it down! That was considered poor hospitality.

Now, sit down at the table, and I’ll put the kettle on. I think we have a fruit cake and some scones. What will you have in your sandwich?

D J Eastwood

Living on an island is different. In The Apprentice Tattoo, Col, and Albyn are part of the Hill Clan of the Tribe of the West. The clan that is responsible for the stone circle at Classac (Callanish).

They are insular people, interacting with their neighbours, but mostly self-reliant.

Growing their own food is a must, for who knows what would be available to trade if they ran out. They’d have reared their own meat and grown grain for bread, but what of the things that weren’t available?

Leather would come from the hides of cattle and wild prey, but what about stone tools? The stone on Lewis is largely Lewisian Gneiss, a stone that would not lend itself to making blades. So you need that paragon of stone-age life, flint.

Looking at the map, we only find flint in certain parts of Britain. The Sussex and Surrey Downs, Chiltern Hills, and Yorkshire Wolds are flint rich areas, but they could hardly be further from the Western Isles for people who travelled by foot or boat. So trade routes existed, but how reliable were they?

In today’s worldwide economy, goods come from all over the globe but are still limited by transport. We see it every year, here on the Isle of Lewis; the weather is bad, the freight ferry does not sail, and people rush to the supermarkets to buy up essentials.

Two or three stormy days, two or three failed sailings, and there is no bread, no milk, no meat or vegetables. People won’t starve, but it’s inconvenient.

They did transport flint, for pieces have been found on the islands. Big lumps of flint are heavy to carry or to transport. So did they trade the smaller finished tools instead? A good knife is essential to anyone living the lives our ancestors knew. An axe for felling trees, tools for working wood, scrapers for leather making, all came from off the island.

Crossing the Minch, the stretch of water between Lewis and the mainland, would have been a daunting task to all but the most experienced of sailors. Modern ferries are capable of carrying massive payloads. The MV Loch Seaforth boasts it can carry 143 cars and 700 passengers. Neolithic people had wooden dugout vessels, or perhaps skin boats. They’d have used the winds to travel, no doubt, but the winds here are fickle, liable to change in a moment.

A person making that journey might be back in a few days or may disappear for months until another sailing was possible.

With a simple diet, the islands were reasonably self-sufficient right until the 1940s, perhaps even into the 50s. There would have been mutton and fish, potatoes, oats, and kale. Milk from the cow gave crowdie, a traditional soft cheese, and there’d have been home-made butter for the oatcakes.

Could we live like that now? I doubt it. We’re too fond of imported foods and, especially, sweet things, which would have been a rarity years ago.

I’d be quite happy with the diet from 1940s Lewis. Would you?

D J Eastwood