Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Guest Post: Jean Fullerton Author Of Call Nurse Mille

Hi there, I thought I would pop by and say hello. I was born and raised alongside the Thames in East End of London.  When I found my storytelling voice it was only natural that I set my tales in the vibrant, but poverty stricken streets in that part of London.  

Unlike many of my fellow authors I am a relative latecomer to writing. In fact, I didn't know I could write until eleven years ago when I was sent on an NHS stress management course- yes, fact can be stranger than fiction. 

I’m dyslexic and when I went to school, at about the time when the Beatles were tripping off to India, the condition wasn't recognized so English was always tortuous. 

As a teenager I consumed Historical fiction of all kinds and I’d thought over the years that one day I’d write a historical novel. To my utter amazement a story tumbled out and after three months I had a 90,000 word manuscript and another story screaming to be told.
After writing over a 1,000,000 words my eleventh book, No Cure for Love, won the Harry Bowling Prize in 2006.  I signed with my lovely agent, Laura and offered a two-book contract with Orion Publishing. 

My first four novels were set during the Victorian era but my latest Call Nurse Millie, jumps forward a hundred year and starts on VE day 1945.  

As the troops begin to return home, the inhabitants of London attempt to put their lives back together. For 25-year-old Millie, a qualified nurse and midwife, the jubilation at the end of the war is short-lived as she tends to the needs of the East End community around her. But while Millie witnesses tragedy and brutality in her job, she also finds strength and kindness. And when misfortune befalls her own family, it is the enduring spirit of the community that shows Millie that even the toughest of circumstances can be overcome.

Through Millie's eyes, we see the harsh realities and unexpected joys in the lives of the patients she treats, as well as the camaraderie that is forged with the fellow nurses that she lives with. Filled with unforgettable characters and moving personal stories, this vividly brings to life the colourful world of a post-war East London.

I still have to pinch myself sometimes to make sure I’m not actually dreaming but what makes me spend hours bent over the keyboard typing and lying awake at night running plot over in my mind is to tell my characters stories and have readers love them as much as I do. 

Just to give you a little flavour here’s an excerpt from the opening pages. 


Excerpt:

Chapter One
Millie Sullivan pushed an escaped curl of auburn hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. She wished she’d put on her cotton petticoat under her navy blue uniform instead of the rayon one.
    Although the milk float was only just rolling along the street, it was already sweltering hot.
    With a practised hand Millie wrapped the newborn infant in a warm towel. ‘There we go, young lady, say hello to your ma.’
    She handed the child to the woman propped up in the bed. Mo Driscoll, already mother to four lively boys, took the baby.
   ‘Thank you, Sister,’ she said, tucking her daughter into the crook of her arm and gazing down at the baby. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
   ‘She’s an angel,’ Mo’s mother, standing on the other side of the bed, replied. ‘And a welcome change.’ She looked at Millie. ‘I’ll clear up, Sister. You look done in.’
   ‘I am, but thankfully it’s my last night on call.’ Millie handed a parcel of newspaper containing soiled gauze to the older woman. ‘Could you pop these on the fire?’
   ‘To be sure.’ She took the packet and threw it in the zinc bucket alongside the dirty linen. ‘That superintendent works you nurses too hard. You should try and put your feet up when you get back.’
   Millie smiled.
   Chance would be a fine thing. She plopped her instruments into the small gallipot half-filled with Dettol, took off her gloves and glanced at her watch.
   Eight-thirty a.m.!
   Thank goodness.
   She’d be back by the time Miss Summers gave out the day’s work. Also, as Annie Fletcher, the trainee Queen’s Nurse student assigned to Millie, was laid up with tonsillitis, Millie had given a couple of Annie’s morning insulin injection visits to Gladys to do, and she wanted to make sure she’d done them.
   ‘Do you know what you’re going to call her?’ Millie asked Mo, washing her hands in the bowl balanced on the rickety bedside table.
   ‘Colleen, after me mum,’ she replied.
    Mother and daughter exchanged an affectionate look and Mille glanced at her watch again.
    She ought to get on, as she’d promised her own mum that she’d pop home in time for Churchill’s announcement at three p.m.
    Her parents, Doris and Arthur, only lived a short bus ride away in Bow but, as Millie had two newborns to check plus a handful of pregnant women to see before she swapped her midwifery bag for her district one for her afternoon visits, it would be a close-run thing.
    Millie packed the four small enamel dressing-bowls inside each other, then stowed them in her case between her scissors and the bottle of Dettol. She snapped the clasp shut.
    ‘I’ll call back tomorrow, but if there’s any problem just ring Munroe House to get the on-call nurse,’   Millie said, squeezing down the side of the bed towards the door.
    Like so many others in East London, the Driscolls’ home was just the two downstairs rooms in an old terraced house that Hitler’s bombs had somehow missed.
    Colleen took the manila envelope tucked into side of the dressing-table mirror and passed it to Millie.
     She opened it and taking out two crumpled ten-shilling notes, popped them into the side pocket of her bag. ‘I’ll write it in when I get back to the clinic.’


And connect to me on my website at www.jeanfullerton.com to find out about me, my previous books, and my East London heritage along with pictures of the actual East London locations where my stories are set.
You can also find me on Facebook as Jean Fullerton and follow me on Twitter as @EastLondonGirly  


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