Reveries, Reflections and Ruminations

The Drowned Village of Thores-Cross by Karen Perkins

5/1/2021

The thought of a drowned village is compelling. It grabs hold of our imaginations and does not let go.
The waters are serene; the sun sparkles off ripples as Canada Geese swoop in to land. The purple-blooming moors of the hilltops descend into pine woods, the trees reaching the shoreline; the sedge beneath is dotted with pale yellow primroses in spring, mushrooms in the autumn, and fallen pine cones in winter. But no matter how peaceful Thruscross Reservoir looks, I cannot help but think about the village beneath the water. The homes, the families, the lives lived, the way of life taken by the dammed river.

Thruscross Reservoir and Dam

Thruscross comes into its own when a storm breaks, when the open sky – undimmed by light pollution – becomes a fierce maelstrom of blinding light and thunderous resounding echoes. Then the waves of the reservoir whip up; their serenity transformed into ferocity by nature. The storm is somehow a fitting reaction to the changes mankind has made to this landscape, and the dead are angry. They want their village back. Their homes, their church, their school, their mills and their pubs.

Every so often, they get their wish. When a particularly dry summer empties the reservoir, the village resurfaces and people again walk the roads, cross the bridges and explore the ruins that were once busy with life.

An Empty Thruscross Reservoir - Image by Roys Blog Spot

During my research for The Haunting of Thores-Cross, Cursed and Jennet, I came across a lovely description of the lost village in The Yorkshire Evening Post dated April 30, 1914. It describes a village green with a post office (the postmaster also being the village cobbler), a mill pond complete with island, and the church as “one of the most beautiful little churches I have yet seen in Yorkshire.” In summing up, it describes the valley as “a standing type of Oliver Goldsmith’s ‘deserted village’, [yet] Thruscross is still one of the most beautiful villages in our renowned county.”

In the Ghosts of Thores-Cross series, I draw on the original Viking name for the village – Thor’s Cross – which evolved into the modern name of Thruscross. In time, the west end of Thruscross became a village in itself, although in true Yorkshire fashion, nobody but the people who lived there know where the boundary between Thruscross and West End lies. Now it’s lost forever.

The River Washburn flows from its source high on the Yorkshire Moors into the valley, and was dammed in the 1960s to increase the supply of drinking water to Leeds, marking the end of a village that had been in decline since the 1840s. Its main industries were initially sheep rearing and the wool trade, then cotton spinning before a move to flax production at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Three mills were kept busy, and the population soared to over 600. By 1950, most of the flax production had moved to the cities of Leeds and Bradford, and less than 100 people still lived at Thruscross.

Street Lane Bridge and Walker’s Mill

As the cities expanded, their water supply needed to be increased. Three reservoirs had already been created in the Washburn Valley: Fewston, Swinsty and Lindley. Thruscross lies at the valley’s head above Fewston, and despite its beauty, Thruscross was next in line to be flooded. Work on the impressive Thruscross Dam began in the 1950s, and the gates were closed for the first time for a test flood in 1966, giving rise to the iconic picture of the church roof standing proud of the water.

Despite the legends of the church bell ringing whenever the water level drops, the church was demolished before the valley was flooded proper, and whilst the graves were relocated to the top of the nearby hill, the stone from the church was re-used to construct a new church at Blubberhouses, where it stands alone, overlooking the A59 to Skipton, with a narrow view of the dam. But if you stand quietly on the reservoir shore and listen hard, you may yet hear the sound of a bell tolling through time . . .

The Test Flood of Thruscross Reservoir in 1966 as featured in Cursed. Image by Alastair Laurence (West End, A Sunken Village)

I shall never forget my first look down the 200-metre drop of the dam, nor my shock when I learned that the whole structure sways as it holds back 1,725 million gallons of water! I spent my childhood playing on, in and alongside Thruscross Reservoir, and it’s no wonder the lost village of Thruscross captured my imagination. I hope Jennet and the other ghosts of Thores-Cross capture yours.

The Downside of Thruscross Dam (Image by John S Pate)

There are three books in the Ghosts of Thores-Cross series, which are available from amazon for Kindle and in audiobook, paperback, large print and hardback.
The Haunting of Thores-Cross: A Yorkshire Ghost Story
Cursed: A Ghosts of Thores-Cross Short Story
JENNET: now she wants the children
Signed Copies are available by clicking here

Sources:
Laurence A (1992), West End: A Sunken Village, Smith Settle, Otley, W Yorkshire
Reid M (2006), The Yorkshire Water Way, Vol 1, Innway Publications, Harrogate, N Yorkshire
http://roys-roy.blogspot.com/2013/12/curious-changes-in-villages.html
https://www.facebook.com/johnspatephotography/

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Valkyrie Rising - Contenders, Fibromylagia and Books by Karen Perkins

7/2/2019

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A Contender in full flight - image courtesy of Wikipedia

My bow crashed into another wave, jolting my body from head to foot. I groaned, threw the tiller over and dived into the boat.

On the other side of the tack, I grabbed the hook, clipped on and jumped out on to the trapeze; tiller and mainsheet in hand. I looked behind – he was still there. I was determined to beat him to the finish.

Tack – tack – tack. Finish line in sight. I gritted my teeth and kept going. One last tack.

'Starboard!' I screamed. I had right of way and he had no choice but to duck behind my stern. I crossed the line ahead.

I swung back into the boat and unhooked; every muscle in my body was shaking. I was used to reservoir sailing; now I was on the Baltic in the strongest weather I had competed in at sea, and I was exhausted.

I looked behind, looking for more boats; there were none – I found out later that half the fleet had retired and I was the only woman to have finished the race – the last race of the 1995 European Contender Championships in Germany. I had done it; I was the ladies champion.

Admittedly, there were not many of us competing (some would say daft enough to compete); the contender is an extreme boat. A single-handed trapeze dinghy with a large sail; it’s hard work, often frustrating and very wet, but it is an exhilarating boat to sail.

I patted the deck of my boat, Ride of the Valkyrie. She was old, heavy, and slow, but she was my prized possession.

I managed to tack and head back to the sailing club, then laughed out loud – not caring about the other competitor's look of alarm. A brass band had struck up on the shore – they were playing Wagner's Ride of the Valkyrie!

I guided my own Valkyrie in between the harbour walls to the slipway and jumped out. My feet hit the bottom but my legs could not hold me. I sat down heavily in the water, letting go of Valkyrie in surprise. She drifted away.

I shouted and a handful of fellow sailors ran into the water to rescue the boat. They left me to get myself out of the brine.

I was 24 years old and am proud of my achievement. I treasure the memories, even though the repercussions of that race still shape my life over twenty years later.

Karen Perkins at the helm of Ride of the Valkyrie, European Championships, Rostock, Germany, 1995

I had a very painful journey home from Germany, my back and shoulders felt as if they were on fire, but I had a new job with a company of independent financial advisors waiting for me, and I had to get back quickly. I had sailed for years and was used to aches and pains, so I assumed the pain in my back and shoulders would get better in time.

It didn't.

Soon, I was unable to drive myself to work and it grew harder and harder to pretend everything was fine. When it got to the point that I could barely hold the telephone receiver to my ear or put a file away in the cabinet, I gave in and went to see a doctor. Then the tests began. X-rays and MRI scans; injections of isotopes and mercury followed by more scans.

No answers.

I found it difficult to accept and was extremely frustrated by not knowing the cause of so much pain. I explored non-traditional medicine, and started with aromatherapy massage and an osteopath.

My first visit shocked the osteopath. The muscles in my shoulders were so inflamed they had turned liquid. At least that explained why I could barely hold a pen or make myself a cup of coffee, but still no one could identify the cause. At the osteopath's suggestion I consulted a rheumatologist, and finally, a diagnosis: fibromyalgia.

The diagnosis came just in time; my new (and very patient) employers had had enough and were now encouraging me to stop working and go on disability. The thought of that horrified me. I had worked since I was fourteen years old, and couldn't imagine being stuck at home all day, in pain, with nothing to do. I was able to tell them of the diagnosis and give them a plan of action. Bi-weekly visits to the osteopath for acupuncture as pain relief and daily swimming; starting with half a length and gradually increasing.

Despite later realising that the fibromyalgia diagnosis was worth little (my GP described it as a 'dustbin diagnosis'), and was merely a description of the symptoms in Latin (fibro – fibre, my – muscle, algia – pain), the increasing exercise and sheer determination helped me to regain fitness to a level where I could manage a full life again. I kept my job and even started sailing again – although I didn’t compete as strenuously as I had before.

After a couple of years, I changed job, from working in admin to working as a financial planning consultant for a high street bank. I loved it. I had counted myself extremely lucky just to have kept my old job, and now I was actively developing a professional career and all went well for a couple of years until my new company encountered problems.

From working in local branches, I suddenly had to travel regularly to Scotland in a high-pressure situation and the old symptoms returned. Simply getting off a train with luggage was enough to put my back into spasm and I had to return home.

This time the pain and disability was even worse – I wasn't as fit as I had been before and my body simply couldn't cope.

Image from joaynn510.wordpress.com Click to see full article

I realised that I had never truly understood what the cause of the problem had been and had never resolved the original injury, just eased the symptoms. By this time I had bought my own house and lived alone, and had to find creative ways to cope – some simple; others not. For example using a plastic plates and cutlery; shampoo and conditioner in the smallest containers available; sticking acupuncture needles into myself (which I don’t recommend!) and learning Reiki to help ease the pain until I could safely take more painkillers. I learned to pick things up from the floor with my feet, and had to accept that some days getting dressed really wasn't that important. Then there was the humiliation of the raised toilet seat, and not being able to hold my sister's bridal bouquet for her at her wedding.

Leaving the house was impossible most of the time, and I kept bottled water and cereal bars upstairs for those days when I couldn’t make it down. I often went a week without seeing or speaking to anybody, and would only answer the telephone if I was sure it was my mum.

I still didn't understand what was happening. Why was I in so much pain? Why was it continuing for so many years with no let up? I continued my search for answers, both orthodox and non. In seventeen years I saw forty-two doctors and therapists, and have completed countless courses – both from home and at the local college, when able.

My search took me from herbalism to homeopathy to counselling and psychology, which I found fascinating. There was a side-effect to the counselling and psychology course, though: I had to talk and write about myself – something I had never found easy. I had always been the one to listen to others’ problems as a way of ignoring my own, but once I started, I couldn't stop.

Well into the second year of the course I picked up a pen and started writing. After ten minutes I was in too much pain to hold the pen, so I swapped to my left hand. It wasn't very legible at first, but did improve. It was like a hunger – I could not put the pen down, no matter how much pain I was in. Ten minutes rest, more painkillers, then another chapter.

Mr Prized Shelf of First Drafts...

I filled the first notebook in a couple of days and bought another, then another. It dawned on me that I was writing a book. I had loved books since I had learnt to read, and my earliest memories are centred around the books I had loved. It had never occurred to me that I might actually be able to write one myself, one day.

When I looked back at what I had written, I realised (with my new understanding of psychology) that the story, Dead Reckoning, was an outpouring of all the pain and frustration I had felt over the years. I hadn't written it as my story, but of pirates and battles, adventure and romance; all metaphors rooted in my life so far.

Once I completed the story, I also found some better answers. A combination of a hypnotherapist and physiotherapist found muscles in my hips had been in spasm, without release, for fifteen years. That had tilted my pelvis, putting pressure on my back muscles, and had resulted in so much extreme pain in my shoulders.

Now that I finally understand the problem, I can better understand what to do about it. Unfortunately, it has taken so long to find my answers, that my body has learned different ways of supporting my skeleton and I'm having to re-educate my muscles and nervous system; but I am managing my condition better, and flare ups – whilst still extremely painful and debilitating – are less frequent and usually pass in weeks rather than months.

Then life took another swerve. I entered Dead Reckoning into the Mslexia Novel Competition in 2011 and I was overjoyed to receive an email telling me I had been long-listed. This was the final push I needed to finish editing the book and publish it.

I realised the independent route would be the best way for me to publish yet pace my activity and manage my health, and I self-published Dead Reckoning in 2012. In 2015, I was asked to join other authors, including David Leadbeater, Steven Bannister and John Paul Davis in publishing a box set of thrillers: The Hot Box. Dead Reckoning was my contribution, and together we reached the top 50 of the UK Kindle chart, and the top of many bestseller lists on Amazon.

My new life had begun, and a future once more stretched out in front of me. A future to be filled with many more books…

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Parliament of Rooks: Haunting Brontë Country

26/1/2017

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The new Yorkshire Ghost Story is now available for pre-order.
Release date: 28th February 2017

No matter how hard life is, humanity has the power to make it better – or worse.

Parliament of Rooks contrasts the beautiful, inspiring village of Haworth today with the slum – or rookery – it was during the industrial revolution: rife with disease, heartache, poverty, and employing child slavery in the mills.

In 2017, life expectancy in the UK is 81.
In 1848 Haworth, it was 22.

Read on for an exclusive extract:

Pre-Order Your Kindle Copy Today

March 1838

Haworth Main Street

Martha hitched up the bundle strapped to her front then, satisfied Baby John was secure, grasped the handle and began to haul the full bucket up the well shaft.

John barely mewled in protest at the violent, rhythmic action, already used to the daily routine, and Martha pushed thoughts of the future out of her mind. Her firstborn was sickly, and she was surprised he had survived his first two months. He was unlikely to live much longer.

She stopped to rest, her body not yet fully recovered from the rigours of the birthing, then bent her back to her task once more. She had too much to do to indulge in a lengthy reprieve.

Once she had the water and had scrubbed their rooms clear of coal dust and soot, she’d be up to the weaver’s gallery to start on the day’s pieces.

She stopped again, took a couple of deep breaths, then coughed as fetid air filled her struggling lungs. Bracing herself, she continued the wind, cursing the dry February that had caused the well to run so low.

At last she could see the bucket, water slopping with each jerk of the rope. Reaching over, she grasped the handle and filled her ewers.

Adjusting Baby John once more, she bent, lifted, and embarked on the trudge homeward.

‘Blasted slaughterman!’ she cried, just catching herself as she slipped on the blood pouring down the alley past the King’s Arms and on to the high street. She’d forgotten it was market day tomorrow. The slaughterhouse was busy today.

Another deep breath, another cough, and Martha trudged on, the bottom of her skirts soaked in blood.

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The Boar's Head - A True Ghost Story - Karen Perkins

26/10/2016

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The Boar's Head Hotel, Ripley

It’s nearly Halloween – time for some TRUE ghost stories!

Who dares?

Here's mine!

Ripley Castle

Back in the early '90s, I worked in one of the most haunted villages in the UK - Ripley in North Yorkshire. Once a coaching inn called The Star on the Great North Road, the luxurious Boar's Head Hotel had just opened, and there had already been a number of spooky incidents reported.

This particular night, the hotel was empty, and I was the only member of staff present – needless to say it was also in the middle of winter. Bored at an empty reception desk with no guests, I decided to take the opportunity to go round and check all the rooms.

After checking the main hotel, I moved on to the rooms outside in what had been the stables in the hotel’s coaching inn days. Walking upstairs, I entered room 3, and thought, What an awful room! Then I looked around in puzzlement – the room was beautiful. Each room had been professionally and individually designed, and I’d love to sleep in such a gorgeous room.

I made my checks, refilled the stationery folder, and left. As I pulled the door closed, I felt a freezing cold shudder pass through me, then a girl’s giggle, accompanied by a swishing noise as if someone were running along the corridor behind me, brushing her hands along each wall. I spun round – no one was there.

The Old Stable Block

I’m ashamed to say, I bolted. Down the stairs, then bursting through the outside door, both arms outstretched. Thank goodness I hadn’t pulled it properly closed behind me when I’d entered; it was very tight and heavy, and often stuck. I’d have broken my arms if I’d hit it at that speed and it hadn’t opened.

I didn’t go back to the main hotel, but ran through the car park and over the road to the housekeeper’s cottage. She opened the door to me and said – I kid you not – ‘What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’

She thought it was just my imagination – I was not long out of my teens and had been alone in a very old hotel in one of the most haunted villages in Britain. That is, until she took me back across the road and tried to prove it to me.

Back in the hotel, we went upstairs and looked into room 3. Nothing was amiss. And it was still a beautiful room.

Then to the room halfway down the corridor. She told me nothing was wrong, but I could not – absolutely could not – go in there. Nor could I at any other time during the two years I carried on working at the hotel; not if those rooms were empty of guests. But I could see from the doorway that all appeared as it should be.

Next was the room at the opposite end of the corridor to room 3, and in the direction I’d heard the girl run.

She unlocked the door, and instead of the ‘See, nothing’s wrong’ that she’d proclaimed when opening the previous two doors, she was silent. I had to follow her inside and see what had quietened this normally voluble, loud and persistent woman (I do say that with love and friendship!)

It was the furniture. Nothing was where it should be. Nothing was where it had been put the last time the room had been serviced - by the lady now staring at the mess. I reminded the housekeeper that every guest who had ever stayed in this room had complained of the TV changing channels by itself and the windows being opened or closed.

It was the first (and last) time I saw her speechless.

Have you got a true ghost story to share?

Karen Perkins is the international best-selling author of the award-winning Yorkshire Ghost Stories:

Knight of Betrayal (novel)
The Haunting of Thores-Cross (novel)
Cursed (short story)

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Caribbean Love Affair by Richard J. Foster

5/8/2016

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In the early part of the eighteenth century, two ships sail the waters of the Caribbean. The first, an English merchant ship, leaves Kingston, Jamaica fully laden and bound for her home port in England. On this voyage she carries two passengers. The first, Eleanor Simpson Forbes, seventeen years old, blonde haired, medium height, slender and beautiful, is an only child. Her father is Sir Benjamin Simpson Forbes, aide to Sir Francis Black, governor of Jamaica. Her mother is Lady Caroline Simpson Forbes, a stunningly beautiful English rose. The second passenger, Margaret Stewart, born of good Scottish stock, joined the Forbes’ as governess to Eleanor. She is travelling with her charge in her new position as companion.

The second ship, a French first-order frigate, now in the hands of a murderous horde of escaped prisoners, and by a cold-blooded, half-caste called Paul Duval, is engaged in acts of piracy.

Aboard the pirate vessel is a young English sailor, Peter Bennet, an unwilling member of the crew, released from prison when Duval led the daring escape and subsequent capture of the frigate. Just turned eighteen, tall, strong, with dark brown hair, and a ruddy complexion, Bennet has no choice but to accept the situation.

Will fate bring these two vessels together? If so, what does the future hold for all on board?

My Thoughts:

I thoroughly enjoyed Caribbean Love Affair – the author evokes the time and place extremely well, and the characters are plausible and just flawed enough to give them depth. There’s plenty of action, suspense and emotion – and plenty of piratical threat and misdeeds to go along with it!

It’s clear Richard J. Foster knows the sea and a sailor’s life – the shipboard scenes read so authentically, I felt I was on the water myself! On top of that, he presents the historical timeframe and setting extremely well, with both narrative and dialogue, on land as well as at sea.

Recommended reading for anyone who enjoys a good seafaring tale!

Author Website

Buy from Amazon

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Cat 'n' Dog Get Drenched - by Lilli Lea

5/8/2016

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Alanna MacLachlin is an animal whisperer, in love with a Berserker, and has prophetic dreams about death. But when her impromptu lake house get-away from everything that life and her dreams has thrown at her turns deadly, she can’t just sit on the sidelines.

Her tenacious but tipsy cousin, Jenae, insists Alanna should relax and let the sheriff handle things, but when Alanna finds out that Derek, who “needs his space” at the moment, is the prime suspect for murder, what will she and her curious four-legged, furry friends do? Help to clear him, or continue to unearth clues that may ultimately convict him?

Derek’s family believes his curse has turned him into a bloodthirsty killer, but then Derek’s cousin, Lenny, a womanizing nudist surfer, who recently came to town to crash on Derek’s couch, confesses his own curse to Derek. Once Lenny’s secret is out, Derek’s life, and all of those closest to him, will be affected by the epic battle that follows.

And when the killer’s identity is ultimately revealed, the whole town of Aurum has to re-evaluate everything they thought they knew about their quiet little town.

My Thoughts:

Lilli Lea has given me the greatest gift an author can give a reader – a whole new genre to explore and enjoy.

Alanna is psychic, and can talk to and understand animals, and together they solve murder – with great theatrics, plenty of humour, and a deep-seated desire to do right. Throw in a steamy romance, some Norse mythology and complicated families, and you have all the right ingredients for a suspenseful and entertaining read.

The real gem in Lilli Lea’s books, though, is her understanding and characterisation of the animals. They are so well-rounded, appropriate and believable – especially the Machiavellian and rather scary cat, Juneau – that I half expect next-door’s cats to start talking!

Author Website

Cat 'n' Dog Get Drenched on Amazon

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The Cortés Trilogy - Enigma, Revenge, Revelation by John Paul Davis

5/8/2016

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ENIGMA! REVENGE! REVELATION! THE BRAND NEW Trilogy From the International Bestselling Author of The Cortés Enigma and The Templar Agenda

***Two Brand New Thrillers***
***One International Bestseller***

Trilogy Edition includes:
The Cortés Enigma - new and revised edition, May 2016
The Cortés Revenge - new release, May 2016
The Cortés Revelation - new release, May 2016

FROM THE BACK PAGE

Mexico 1520: As the Aztec Empire burns to ash at Hernán Cortés's feet, in another part of the country a great treasure lies hidden in a sacred place watched over by its keepers. Throughout the land, a strange legend has long told of an ancient people dwelling deep within the jungle whose possessions include a precious set of stones with the potential to bring unlimited power to its owner. As well as wealth beyond their wildest dreams . . .

1904: In an old graveyard in a remote part of the Isles of Scilly, a distinguished academic makes a surprising discovery. The inscriptions on the gravestones are unlike any he has ever seen, at least in that part of the world. The clues point to an astounding possibility. A forgotten Spanish legend. And a four-hundred-year-old cover-up!

Present Day: History lecturer Dr Ben Maloney is sitting in his office when the phone rings. A call from his cousin is rarely anything out of the ordinary, but today what he has to say is anything but normal. Their great-great-grandfather's body has been discovered in a boat near a deserted island in the Isles of Scilly. With a bullet through his skull!

Dropping everything, the cousins' decision to visit the site of their ancestor's demise soon proves to be one that will change their lives forever. With nothing but a hundred-year-old diary and legends from the past to guide them, Ben soon realises their quest to solve the riddle of their ancestor's death will require them to take on an altogether greater mystery that will lead them not only halfway across the world delving deep into humanity's bloodiest past but potentially to their own deaths. An unimaginable treasure remains undiscovered - one with the ability to change the world for better or worse. And some will stop at nothing to find it . . .

My Thoughts:

Great action, well-drawn characters, emotion, suspense, history, myth AND a lost treasure! What more could you want? A fast-paced quest across the Isles of Scilly, Spain and Mexico? The Cortés Trilogy has that too!

I thoroughly enjoyed the read, and struggled to put the books down. I loved that all three books were in one volume so I didn’t have to wait for the next - John Paul Davis definitely had me hooked into his characters’ world, and the Isles of Scilly are now on my holidays’ list. I’ve even found myself missing Ben and Chris et al and wondering where they are now and what they’re getting up to!

Author Website

The Cortes Trilogy on Amazon

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Stand Your Ground: A Torsten Dahl Thriller by David Leadbeater

24/7/2016

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SYNOPSIS

FAMILY THREATENED ON VACATION.

HUNTED AND WITH NO CHANCE OF RESCUE.

HOW WOULD YOU SURVIVE?

An idyllic family vacation in Barbados goes terribly wrong when Torsten Dahl is spotted by the one man with reason to hate him most in all the world.

With his marriage already crumbling and his defenses down, Dahl is finding it hard to switch between the soldier's discipline and a family unit. When their hotel is attacked by gunmen they are forced to flee blindly with no phones, no ID, and no money. It gets worse when Dahl realizes his wife, two daughters and himself are being singled out and hunted down by a dangerous army that includes corrupt local authorities.

As the chase continues through Barbados's darkening streets, aboard a pirate cruise ship, and amidst a festive carnival parade, Dahl realizes there are even deeper nightmares abroad tonight. The island's prime minister is under threat. The leader of one of the world's most violent drug cartels has arrived.

And though instincts say run, hide, just survive, there is only one thing a man like Dahl will do when his wife and daughters come under direct threat.

Stand His Ground.

My Thoughts:

Torsten Dahl’s first solo outing has all the action, suspense and excitement we've come to expect and anticipate from a David Leadbeater novel, but with a twist.

In the Matt Drake novels, Dahl is a rock, a complete professional at the top of his game, and yes, the Mad Swede – and he always comes up with the goods, usually in dramatic fashion! In Stand Your Ground, he is all of this, but we also see his softer side, his vulnerability: his family.

This brings new emotional and psychological levels to the action novel, which add to the suspense and threat levels as Dahl is now far more than a soldier; he is a parent, and any one of us could face the same dilemmas. Somehow everything seems all too real for comfort.

So how does a key member of an elite special forces team balance his professional role with that of a husband and father? Especially when the two intersect?

Read Stand Your Ground to find out…

Author Website

Buy from Amazon

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