Paint it Jack: A Historical Novel

Synopsis of the book:

Tired of his dead-end factory job, Will - a Durham lad - joins the army where he goes to fight in the “War on Terror”. He becomes a man able to save and take lives until one day his world falls apart. Broken and despairing he meets Jack, another lost soul, in the shadows of Old Portsmouth. Jack, a Scottish painter and once England’s most wanted man, also fought for freedom but his fight was many years ago. As the night passes they tell each other their stories: Jack’s tale of his role in the American War of Independence, and how he almost single-handedly brought it to an early end; Will’s of fighting for freedom in a world which soon forgets the fallen and fractured.

The historical fiction novel Paint it Jack is set in Scotland, England, the USA and France of the late 18th century, and Portsmouth, Afghanistan and Durham of the early 21st century; it is a story of hopes, heroes, fear, loss and redemption.

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Short extracts from the book

Chapter one:

“It was the 10th of March, a bright spring day, and I remember it like it was yesterday, which in a way it was. At half past one, I was hoisted aloft by scores of men, the rope bit bull terrier like, locking tight, but there was no quick death. I hung in agony for many long minutes before the end.”

On the streets I had discovered that everyone has a story, they need it to get from day to day; the fact there was a tale did not surprise me, the intensity of the telling did. ...

Chapter seven:

In addition to song, another distraction was the Sunday kick about, which was usually after the church service, and before the hallowed roast dinner which wouldn’t have earned that description in my family. There were never any proper Yorkshire puddings, the caramel-coloured pillows of gravy-soaked perfection, which in our house went with every Sunday roast. We had the misfortune to have southerners in the kitchen, and it wasn’t their fault that they had never before experienced the magic which can be made with just eggs, milk and flour. Their attempts were always flat, greasy, and burned. I was tempted to give up on them and have something else instead, but I didn’t, there was always hope that the cookhouse would one day appoint a northern chef. ...

Chapter twenty-one:

As the barnyard awoke around me and I sought to take my leave before I was discovered, I could think of nothing but my dream. I had survived two terrifying crossings of the Atlantic, a flight across the wilds of America, an encounter with a bear, a career as a highwayman, several desertions from His Majesty’s Army and the dogged pursuit of the Bow Street Runners. All of these - and their attendant risks of drowning, disease, jaws, claws, flogging or hanging - could have killed me. They had not. Was this a coincidence, or had I been saved, for something special; more distinguished than merely vanishing into the thick air of Birmingham or Manchester? ...