Reflecting on A Guernsey Promise - a retrospective on a book, a place and the beginning of a friendship
Dolli and I have known each other for some time now. But did you know our friendship and working relationship began with a book? In 2014, she was looking for someone to help her edit and revise her novel, A Guernsey Promise. In this episode learn how Dolli, through serendipity and synchronicity, fell into my life and together and with the discerning editorial skills of my mother, Liz Roy, we were able to carve the story into a published novel. Naturally, we discuss the beauty of Guernsey, and she shares some tourism tips, places to visit, things to see. So joins us for another Rob and Dolli Life to Life where we reminisce and reflect on writing and friendship.
“Life is a perpetual succession of events, and we must submit to it...[these events] have their own laws, their own orbits, their own gravitational force, all independent of man.”
An excerpt from Doris Gerlach’s book, A Guernsey Promise:
In Saint Peter Port, she could feel the busy energy of people. The whole town seemed to be astir, alive with conversation, with bustling bodies, High Street awash with town people and tourists. Many had erupted from the boats shuttled from the cruise lines; vigorously they snapped pictures of the blue telephone booths and mail boxes using digital cameras large and small. They were distinguished from the locals by their knapsacks, fanny packs and the general look of awe upon their faces. For those who lived on the island, they simply drifted by on their bikes, gazing bemusedly at the traffic. Many worked in the ubiquitous restaurants, cafés and shops, answering questions, taking orders, selling trinkets, smiling and nodding. The retired ones, the ones who took their time, sat at their favourite places to play chess, read or watch the daily circus at a safe and slow remove.
The tourists thronged and wandered the streets, crowded the restaurant and café tables while slender servers weaved in and around the chairs and tables like practiced contortionists, holding up platters of cheese, wine, sometimes tea and sometimes other dishes that catered to their differing tastes, depending upon their home country . Hannah wondered if it was too early for oysters, but immediately saw one plate go quickly by as she stood outside a jam-packed restaurant. That answered her question.
And that aroma of stewed beef and beans... it all smelled too wonderful, like a home-cooked meal in paradise. Though breakfast had been filling, her mouth watered a little and her stomach whispered a longing. Not now, she said to herself. Her hunger for food, perhaps, was a misplaced desire for something else, something infinitely more palatable to the body.
Anyway, she’d have to eat later, she reasoned, as the tables seemed to be filled up. It would be better to shop first, eat and write, sip tea later in order to work up a good appetite. So Hannah walked the streets, keeping an eye out for something nice to wear. She passed the shop windows not so much considering what she would like but what would he like?
In the Oxfam Shop in Smith Street she found some colourful tops, and in High Street treated herself to a pair of smashing red ballet pumps, which she had always wanted but never dared to buy. There were always occasions to wear such things, but Hannah never felt brave enough. Yet, here they coordinated perfectly with her new red pullover; it came together like fashion magic.
Her laptop bag weighed heavy on both her mind and shoulder. Should she could continue to treat herself or get back to her personal business? It was bad enough when writing her academic papers or even during the contract period when her publisher had given her a six-month timeframe. Even then, she still found herself procrastinating. Yet wasn’t this her little adventure, her own little vacation away from her life, her duties and everything else? Grist for the mill, as they say in English.