Random Thoughts


When I was ten we were rehoused by Pontypridd Council along with many neighbours from the Graig to Glyncoch. For the first time many of us had indoor bathrooms, and best of all, behind the street, a paradise of fields and woods to explore, fly kites, play games, and watch wildlife. A paradise now under threat by the expansion of  Craig yr Hesg quarry, which appears to be intent on hollowing out the mountain on which the village stands.

Expansion of the quarry has been mooted several times over the past decades. RCT Council turned down the latest plans twice then suddenly – ignoring the very real concerns of residents at the danger of heavy machinery and lorries laden with tons of rock travelling on unsuitable narrow roads, the destruction of woodland and wildlife during nesting season, and loss of public space, the greenlight was given for massive expansion.

The Facebook site Save Craig yr Hesg Public group has enabled local people to make a record of the destruction and publish photographs worthy of Tolkien’s word pictures of Morder. Fences mark out the intended new borders of the quarry that stand within feet of a primary school and housing. Residents have documented medical evidence that prove blasting has resulted in high levels of dust causing lung problems that risk the health of the elderly and infants. There are photographs that detail the cracks in house walls, again due to the effects of subsidence caused by blasting.

For the sake of the residents who live in my old home and all who travel on Berw Road I sincerely hope that permission to extend the site of the quarry can and will be rescinded. An immediate public enquiry is needed. It’s too late to rectify the wilful, wanton and spiteful damage to the ecology and the destruction of the ground and century old trees during nesting season, but hopefully not too late to stop the development.

Laws regarding the environment should be respected and govern those who govern us, who gave permission for this corporate destruction. The accumulation of wealth for the minority should not come before the health and wellbeing of the majority.  We simply cannot stand back and allow those in Cardiff Bay to pollute and destroy our most value assets – our landscape – to promote the wealth of industrialists. Glyndwr is supposed to be sleeping in a cave until Wales needs him, If you see him please wake him. It’s time for a revolution.

For more photographs and details posted by those who are fighting to “SAVE CRAIG YR HESG” (A PUBLIC GROUP)  a link is posted to the Facebook group below. Please, help us fight to save Wales before it is turned into Morder for future generations.



Interior Tahara House

My proudest moment was when I was told that my novel “One Last Summer” based on my mother’s war diaries was recommended reading on the Holocaust Memorial Day’s website as written from “the bystander’s point of view”. The following extract is almost word for word from my mother’s diary. It’s hard to believe following October 7th 2023 in Israel that anti-semitism has risen its ugly head yet again.

“Since the Jewish businesses in town have closed I haven’t seen any Jews on the streets. There was talk of resettling them in Madagascar, or giving them a homeland in the East. I wasn’t sure if Ruth and Emilia’s families had left, but today I saw them for the first time in three years.
Brunon stopped the car when we turned into Irena’s street because the road was blocked by a convoy of trucks outside the synagogue. SS officers and soldiers, including Georg, were milling about. He was strutting about in his boots and field grey like a bantam cock pretending to be a rooster.
The soldiers were driving crowds of young children and girls out of the building. Some of the older girls were carrying babies, and then I saw Georg pointing a gun at Ruth and Emilia.
He was in the same class as us in kindergarten; he played in the orchestra with Ruth and Emilia until they had to leave. I wound down the car window. Ruth saw me and called my name, but Irena caught hold of my sleeve and whispered, ‘In God’s name, close the window. Think of the children if you won’t think of yourself.’
Georg hit Ruth on the side of her head with his gun. She stumbled,, but he forced her back in line. We sat there watching the soldiers beat and kick the girls and children, and herd them on the trucks for what seemed like hours. And the whole time Irena held her hands over Erich’s eyes so he wouldn’t see what was going on.
Neither Irena nor Brunon said a word, although I’m sure Irena recognized Ruth and Emilia as I did.
The first trucks moved off, and the Rabbi and old men were brought out of the building. The SS waved Brunon on. When I looked back I saw the Rabbi lying on the ground and the soldiers kicking him. He was covered in blood.
Were the SS angry because the Rabbi had hidden the children in the synagogue? Was he trying to save them from deportation? Why, if they can have their own country? And why beat him? He was old; he couldn’t fight back or hurt them. The soldiers were laughing, Georg loudest of all.
How could Georg hit Ruth? How could he and the other soldiers be so cruel? How can anyone beat a helpless old man until the blood runs from him?”
Irene’s house in One Last Summer is based on the one my grandfather – a master builder and architect built for our family in 1936. Across the street, Erich Mendelsohn 1887-1953 a Jewish architect designed and built The Tahara house, from 1911 to 1912 as an addition the Jewish cemetery of Olsztyn founded in 1818. Mendelsohn fled Nazi Germany and sought refuge in England. In spring 1941 he moved to the US to help with the war effort and to teach at University of Califonia, Berkeley. He died in San Francisco in 1953. Abandoned for many years Mendolsohn’s house has recently been restored and hosts musical concerts. I was privileged to be shown around it on my last visit to Olstzyn (formerly Allenstein) The photograph is the restored interior.
Exterior Tahara House Olzstyn

David Warner and me

We are made by our experiences. Yesterday I heard of the death of one of my “heroes” the superb thespian, David Warner (sounds grander than actor). In 1965 I attended a sixth form conference in Westminster and skipped eating (London restaurants were expensive even then)  to buy a ticket to Peter Hall’s,  Royal Shakespeare Company’s production of Hamlet in the Aldwych Theatre.  Growing up in Pontypridd, productions of Shakespeare were few and far between, and never professional. I remember the curtain went up late – on totally mesmerising performances.  Janet Suzman was Ophelia, Elizabeth Spriggs, Gertrude, and from the moment he stepped on  stage David Warner owned it as Hamlet. Setting a benchmark that in my opinion can never be surpassed. Of choice, I’ve never seen another production of  Hamlet since.  When the curtain finally fell, catapulting me back to earth, I found the stage door and joined the crowd. Actors emerged, signed autographs walked off in happy groups. What seemed like hours later I was  alone when an exhausted Mr Warner (understandable given the emotion, skill and energy he’d invested in his performance) exited the stage door.  I asked for his autograph, he gave it unstintingly, asked a few polite questions. Starstruck  I stammered a reply. We walked away not exactly  together but side by side and when we passsed a pub he offerred to buy me a drink. Half a cider later (I didn’t tell him I was 17, but did tell him I had ambitions to attend Drama School) he’d given me an insight into theatre  I’ve never forgotten.   Apart from dire amateur dramatic performances, I never did act, but little did I dream  that 38 years  after that meeting, David Warner would have a starring role as Dr John in the BBC Worldwide adaptation of my book “Hearts of Gold”.
I never met him again. I don’t doubt he forgot me the moment we left the pub but I would have loved to tell him what that meeting meant to me, and how avidly I followed his career. Who could forget his “Blifil” in Tom Jones. His “Morgan” in “Morgan a Suitable Case for Treatment” I could elaborate but for me he will always be that consummate. Hamlet. RIP David Warner. Thank you so much for your  kindness to a starstruck teenager

in December 1965.  You’ve left an enormous legacy and tonight I’ll watch “Morgan a Suitable case for Treatment” for probably the hundredth time. Catrin Collier July 2022

Allenstein/Olsztyn and the Ukraine.

I try to avoid voicing my politics, but I can longer remain silent. Yesterday, I received an e-mail from a Polish friend with a young family. They have decided to emigrate. They love their country, but like many Poles fear that Poland along with other Baltic states will be the next Russian target. Understandable, while Russians bomb Ukrainian cities into dust and murder its citizens and the rest of the world looks impotently on. Some countries are valiantly trying to assist the Ukrainians within the parameters of “international law” (a paradox if ever there was one) lest they trigger World War III, which seems to be little more than a worthless promise to “try” to avenge Ukrainian dead at a later date. If press reports are reliable, some countries have “gifted” the Ukrainians spent and leaking cold war weapons while others supply the Russians with missiles to kill Ukrainian children. It’s impossible to ascertain the truth – the first casualty of war. Invasion by the Russians is not a nebulous fear for me. I grew up hearing about the atrocities inflicted by Russian troops on the civilian populations of the countries they annexed into the Soviet Union, and heeded my grandmother’s warnings that nowhere was safe, not even Wales. A warning borne out by the Soviet invasion of Hungary in 1956.

My mother and grandmother were survivors of the Russian invasion of East Prussia in 1945, my great grandmother along with two thirds of my large family were either murdered or disappeared – fate unknown -which haunted my grandmother. Like all German East Prussians my grandmother and mother lost all their possessions including home, country, friends, family and everything familiar about their life.
Stateless, labelled “displaced persons” owning only the clothes they were wearing, they did all they could to adjust. My grandmother settled in West Germany and found work as a seamstress. My mother married my Welsh father and moved to Wales. I was born 3 years after the invasion of East Prussia but I was acutely aware of their suffering. Of screams when nightmares returned, of nervousness whenever they had to approach officialdom and report to the police station on my grandmother’s rare visits to Wales. And when my mother succumbed to dementia and hid in her garden from “bad” people who were searching for her.
I used my mother’s wartime diaries as background to my book “One Last Summer” which was read in Polish translation by award winning Polish film director Rafal Geremek who invited me to assist in filming a documentary about the Russian “invasion/liberation” of my mother’s home town, Olzstyn, Poland, formerly Allenstein, East Prussia.
We finished filming last week while Russian soldiers were just over the border in the Ukraine bombing, shooting, murdering, raping and maiming innocent children and civilians. The Ukrainians need help, but most want their country their possessions and above all their neighbourhood, Hiraeth in Wales, Heimat in German returned to them, something I suspect has already gone forever for most. I stand in awe of them and their president who are already talking about rebuilding. Where do they begin? Please, everyone, support the Ukraine and the Ukrainian people in any way you can. No one deserves the genocide of their race, or the murder of children and civilians at the hands of invaders bent on the destruction of a peaceful country.
Here in Wales, people complain about Parliament, the Senedd – and UK politicians – then shrug and say “they are all corrupt but there is nothing we can do.” There is. We have two great assets. The first is free speech (in danger of being eroded) the second the ballot box. If we don’t like a politician or a political party we can vote them out, use it wisely and encourage your children and family to use theirs. If you don’t we run the risk of voting in a despot. I have visited Russia and have close Russian friends, I have heard them say “Russia will always need a strong man to guide it because it has so many different races living in “All the Russias.”” Replace “strong” with compassionate and maybe the invasion of the Ukraine might never have occurred.
The photograph is of my mother and sister in their home in 1930 (Updates on Rafal Geremek’s 2023 documentary will be published on www.catrincollier.co.uk in due course)
In search of Owain Glyndwr

(photographs of Julian Lewis Jones as Glyndwr courtesy of Julian Lewis Jones & Tanabi )

Three years to the day, after meeting Euros Jones Evans and Samira Jefferies of Tanabi when they asked, “How would you feel about writing a book about Glyndwr?” I sent off the third book  in my series of historical novels featuring Glyndwr’s war of independence. (Year one went in research) Initially I wasn’t enthusiastic, because I knew little about Glyndwr beyond the (erroneous) concept he was a bloodthirsty medieval noble. Welsh History didn’t figure largely on the curriculum of Pontypridd Grammar School. If mentioned, the Glyndwr wars were dismissed as a land dispute. I even heard a bizarre story that Glyndwr had moved boundary markers between his land and de Grey’s. A story more suited to a garden dispute between two suburban semis than two medieval estates.

I knew Marcher lords were encouraged by English kings to extend the boundaries of their estates westwards to impoverish and drive out Welsh landowners. I read the list of anti-Welsh laws devised and imposed by Henry IV that reduced the status of the Welsh to that of slaves in their own land, preventing them from living within walled towns, or stone houses, carrying arms, defending themselves or their families from English attacks, holding office in Wales, buying arms, food or goods from England, Bards were outlawed etc.

For all his myriad of supporters from all classes, Glyndwr could have done with better PR. As Churchill said, “The victors write history” and Glyndwr’s wars were chronicled by his enemies. I wish time travel was possible so I could track down the monk, Adam of Usk who recorded Glyndwr’s story. Banished from England by the king between 1402 – 1408 he visited Rome and sought favour from the Pope until he was driven from the city by riots, settled for a while in monasteries in France, Bruges and Flanders and didn’t return to Wales until 1408. Yet he remains the principal authority on the Glyndwr wars although he was absent from Wales and England for most of the battles. It is also obvious from his work he supported Henry IV and despised Richard II and Glyndwr.

I delved into as many books and manuscripts as I could find. Among them the Mortimer papers (Thank you those who have posted extracts on the internet) https://themortimersblog.wordpress.com/2016/12/02/sir-edmund-mortimer-part-one/ Without them I would never have found Glyndwr’s offer of surrender to Bolingbroke in return for his life. Dated after his victory at Hyddgen in October 1401 it was tendered through Mortimer and Percy and proves Glyndwr was all too human, a thinker tormented by doubts, just like the rest of us.

The mystery that hangs over Glyndwr is, where is he? After several discussions with many Welsh nationalists, who all insisted, ‘He would never have hidden close to his daughters on the Welsh borders. He was Welsh he would never have left Wales.’ I found myself agreeing with them. Three of his most trusted captains, Rhys Ddu, Philip Scudamore and Rhys ap Tudor, were captured and hung drawn and quartered between 1410 and 1412. Was it likely he would risk his daughters’ and their families lives’ by seeking sanctuary with them?

I think the key to finding Glyndwr’s final resting place lies in the orders he gave his men after his first attack on Ruthyn Castle. Following a resounding victory Glyndwr advised, “Go home, melt into the Welsh population until you are needed for next year’s spring campaign.” I looked for and found a medieval settlement that dates from the fifteenth century in the heart of Wales. Granted my theory is backed by circumstantial evidence but evidence that stands up to scrutiny. When  I publish Glyndwr 4 – hopefully this time next year – I will duck when the brickbats start hurling.

As for Glyndwr, after living with the man I regard as the greatest Welshman who ever lived, linguist, warrior, lawyer, family man, husband father, charismatic leader of men I have one more year left with him. And when I have typed the last word of ‘Glyndwr 4 When warriors go to die.” the loss will cut deeper than normal post book depression. But in the meantime, I have twelve months more with him.

An extract from “Glyndwr 3 My child’s Child To Weep.”
Crach said, ‘You want me to foretell defeat for Bolingbroke and victory for Hotspur and your joint cause. I reassure you, yet again, that your cause is a just and right one but you already know that. I cannot see the end of it any more than Crab has already told you.’                      ‘And the fulfilling of the prophecy?’ Owain led the way down the river bank out of earshot of the men around them.                                                                                                                                      ‘You must have it imprinted on your heart by now.
“And now after these there shall come out of the North a Dragon and a Wolfe, the which shall be the help of the Lyon, and bring the realme great rest, with peace and glory. These three shall rise agaynst the Moldewarpe which is accursed of God. Also they shall thrust him forth from the realme and the Moldewarpe shall flee and take a ship to save himself.”
‘It couldn’t be clearer, my prince. You are the Dragon, Mortimer the Lion, Hotspur the wolf and Bolingbroke the scabby skinned mole or moldewarpe.’                                                               ‘But can we be certain that God’s ultimate plan is to grant us the ultimate victory? Will our struggle end, as Crab has prophesised in the birth of a legend?’ Owain questioned grimly.  ‘Not all men can look forward to becoming legends, my prince.’                                                ‘There are good and bad legends, which will I become?’ Owain asked.                                     ‘That will depend on the voice that relates your story.’

Thank you, Euros and Samira, for reminding me of my Welsh heritage and giving me the opportunity to explore it.

Catrin Collier, Swansea  7/9/2021


My grandmother, Katherine “Kitty” Jones nee John, worked in the Graig Workhouse roughly from 1926/7 to 1943 when she left to take the position of steward of the officers’ club in Cardiff. She died at the age of 60 in 1951 when I was 3. I can just about recall her lying in bed during her last illness. Born in Court Street, Tonypandy, she continued to live in a rented house there when she married a collier and like many of her neighbours at the time became a ‘battered wife.’ When her husband fractured her skull, she returned “home” after discharge from hospital only to retrieve her two children, aged 9 and 6 (my father was the six year old). She then left Tonypandy for Pontypridd, passed herself off as a widow and applied for a position in the workhouse. (Married women were not allowed to work at the time). After living in rented rooms which enabled her to save a little money, she took out a mortgage on a house in Graig Avenue and found lodgers to help her care for the children while she worked 12 hour shifts. She was close to my father and after hearing the stories he told me about her, I can only admire her strength and resolve. It also says something for the times that she was able to move under 6 miles and build an entirely new life for herself. When my father was old enough he used to walk her back and for to work, especially when she was on night shift and while they walked, she told him about life in the workhouse.

I recall the buildings very well. As a child in the 1950’s I used to attend Red Cross classes in a wooden building in the yard, and the staff were kind because most of them remembered my grandmother. When researching Hearts of Gold I spoke to as many people as I could find who had worked there during the depression. Most were incredibly sympathetic towards the inmates, because they were all very aware if they lost their jobs, or became ill, they, and their families would end up there.

Practically all of the workhouse stories in the 10 Hearts of Gold series of books are based on tales told to me by my family and the staff who worked there and checked in newspaper accounts. Conditions varied enormously from workhouse to workhouse in Wales, some were better than others and many stories have been exaggerated to Dickensian levels. Out of work seamen would often walk from Cardiff to Pontypridd to enter the Pontypridd workhouse rather than the Cardiff institution, which says something for the way the Graig Workhouse was run. Yes, the conditions in workhouses in the 1920’s & 1930’s were harsh and far from ideal, as they were for most working class families who lived outside the walls. But, I don’t believe we have the right to impose modern attitudes on those who lived in the past and survived as best they could, given the conditions they were forced to endure.

People tend to forget that those who entered the workhouse were destitute simply because there was no welfare state only the parish guardians who allocated what little money the town could spare to the poor and the running of the workhouse during the depression when the pits were closed and most miners “on the dole”.

The Pontypridd Observer of the 1920’s and 1930’s chronicles heartrending accounts of unemployed miners dying of lung disease and the entire family being taken to the workhouse the day their breadwinner died because they could no longer pay the rent. Children were separated from parents and distributed among institutions according to their age. Six weeks to two years old went to J ward in the workhouse.  Two to ten, Maesycoed Homes. Ten to sixteen the cottage homes near Church Village. If married couples entered together they too were separated, but at least they could look at one another across the dining hall at meal times (meals were eaten in silence) and they were fed and clothed albeit sometimes inadequately.

One of the stories I cherish was told to me by a porter who’d worked in the homes. My grandmother made an official complaint about the food being served to the paupers in the workhouse when they were given the water the vegetables for the inmates of the infirmary ward had been boiled in, as “soup.” She risked her job for speaking up and received a reprimand, but meat and vegetables were added to the soup after she spoke to the Workhouse Master.

For the optimistic there was always Christmas to look forward to. The Pontypridd Observer of the 1930’s carries stories of the town councillors serving the workhouse inmates Christmas dinners of chicken, beef, vegetables and Christmas pudding, and every male inmate received half an ounce of tobacco, and the female inmates were given an orange and nuts. Donations of trays of baked goods and cakes were delivered to the workhouse by the baker Hopkin Morgan, chocolates by the town’s shopkeepers, the White Palace and County Cinemas would open their doors on Christmas Day for free showings for the town’s children – the Salvation Army cooked and served free Friday night fish and chip suppers for poor children who lived on the Graig and my father always carried the family radio down to the workhouse on Christmas Day for his mother to set up in the “unmarried ward” (where women disowned by the families were forced to live until their babies were born) so the inmates could listen to the music and comedy shows.

From talking to the staff who worked there and who recalled my grandmother it became obvious it was never “an us and them” situation with the inmates. More of “poor dab, that could be me a few years from now.” Pontypridd has always been a compassionate town, even when most people in the town had literally nothing to give.


Pre-published writers often hope to find a magical silver key in my routine which guarantees publication. If there is such a magical key, it’s so well hidden I haven’t found it.

As I have often said (and will continue to say) I am a proud member of Swansea Writers’ Circle. The selfless friendship and support I have found within its ranks of past and present members gave me the confidence to seek publication and make decisions that have changed my life.  Recently a new (and very talented member) paid to attend a publishing course. He then e-mailed the group and asked a very pertinent question, “How and on what basis are creative writing tutors given their credentials.” I wrote this in reply to the group – it is entirely my own view and does not in any way reflect that of Swansea Writers’ Circle.

Credentials? You have pinpointed the whole crux of creative writing/scriptwriting/classes.

As Rob Gittins (Film and TV Scriptwriter and long standing writer of East Enders) said in his talk last week, when he was sent the syllabus and notes for a scriptwriting module on a creative writing degree course, he didn’t understand a word of it. This from a writer with literally hundreds if not thousands of TV, radio and film scripts under his belt, not to mention awards and acclaim from the public, actors, film makers and directors.

Years ago when I was published by Headline my editor took me down to the post room where interns sorted unsolicited manuscripts. One of them was dividing scripts into boxes. When I asked why, she explained she read the first paragraph of each script and from that could determine which creative writing course they were following, East Anglia, Manchester, Cardiff etc. The tutors were well and truly putting their stamp on their students. To good or bad effect? Who knows?

I taught creative writing in DACE Swansea University until they wanted me to develop and mark modules towards a degree in creative writing, I’d already given my notice due to pressure of work but I would have left anyway after that. How can anyone possibly measure and mark creativity on a 1-10 basis? How do you measure success and entertainment value – (and let’s face it that’s what writers are – entertainers) when a script’s value is determined by its audience. Give me a sci-fi script and I simply wouldn’t understand it. A historical novel – if it’s well researched and written I’m ready to dive right in.

I am continually appalled by the “rules” quoted at me, “don’t use adverbs” (I know Stephen King doesn’t like them because I read his book on creative writing – which is is interesting if you’re writing for an American audience) always use Courier pt whatever, always have 3 subplots, etc etc etc I also remember the stunned silence at a meeting of a novelists’ association when an author with one magazine article to her name lectured Rosamund Pilcher (she of the Shell Seekers, Coming Home etc etc) on how to achieve publication by following rules she’d gleaned from a weekend writing course. Fortunately Rosamund Pilcher had a sense of humour.

I have a rule. It either works or it doesn’t. If you’re unsure stick the m/s in a drawer for two months then re-read you’ll soon get your answer.

What I do know is every agent, publisher and film maker is looking for something ground breaking and new that has come from the mind of a new and exciting talent. They haven’t a clue what they’re looking for but they’ll recognise it when they see it, and it won’t be a pale imitation of Harry Potter, or 40 Shades of Grey and it might even come from a writer who has broken every rule in the book. Think James Joyce and Kurt Vonnegut.

When Richard Adams wrote Watership Down he walked into a publisher dropped the m/s on to an editor’s desk and said “This is a book about rabbits, read it.” She did and the rest is history.

Advice – the best I can give any pre-published writer is write what you want – if you are passionate about your work, others may see and share your passion, some readers may not share your enthusiasm in sufficient numbers for you to achieve success in the only terms that matter – your own measure.

Don’t listen to detractors, have faith in yourself and if I was going to add a final piece of advice, it’s before signing up for a creative writing class always check the published work of the person running it. Most (not all but most) successful writers I know are too busy earning a living to run classes. The old adage “those who can do, those who can’t teach” applies to writing just as it does to everything else.

I know how much courage it takes to join a writer’s group when you haven’t published a word and burn to write. You wouldn’t be considering membership of a circle if you didn’t have what it takes. It doesn’t seem that long ago that I walked up and down the pavement outside the old Swansea Reference library one Wednesday evening plucking up courage to enter. A member saw me, welcomed me, walked in with me and changed my life. Have faith in yourselves and your work, fellow writers. There is no magic key – set out pen, paper and write.

Do you write full-time?

Since 1994. That year I wrote five commissioned books (one Catrin Collier historical, one Katherine John crime and three raunchy modern romps as Caro French). They were Caro French’s debut and swansong, but I will be eternally grateful to the editor who gave me  that commission because it enabled me to give up full-time work become a full-time writer. I also started novelising TV series around this time as one of my ambitions was to write film and TV scripts and I thought it would be a good way to learn from the masters.

How is your day structured? If your day isn’t structured how, and when, do you find time to write? Do you work set hours?

What’s structure? I leave bed when I wake,  sometime between 5.30 and 9.00 am, make expresso, feed our cat and head for my study to check e-mails. Within seconds our Labrador, Charlie bursts in demanding gravy bones. When my long-suffering husband, John wakes he  makes breakfast and brings mine to my study  (he’s an angel and I simply couldn’t function without him). I read the news headlines on my computer while I eat. I rarely stop for lunch but try to exercise for half an hour every day. Generally when I’m flagging. The best days are when my children and grandchildren telephone or friends visit. If I haven’t a “talk” or event we watch a film or drama if we can find one, if we can’t, we chose an old favourite from our DVD library, before going to bed with a book. For me, it’s usually a research book.

Do you try to keep to the same writing hours each day or does each day differ?

The writing hours end when  I’m exhausted usually around 7-8 p.m. but every day differs because with luck, I’ll be further into the story I’m immersed in. I’ll take a break if I’m giving a talk that day, or embarking on a research trip.

How do you juggle your writing life with personal life, business life, other forms of writing etc?

Looking back I wonder how I ever wrote when my three children were small and I worked full time as a  Business Consultant. (I wrote from midnight until 4 in the morning) I certainly couldn’t have written without John’s support. After fifty years of marriage he says he doesn’t mind me disappearing  into my study (I’ve never asked what he does when I’m writing) and insists he enjoys travelling to “research” sites all over the world.

When is your best time to write? And are you always chasing your own tail? Or are you organised?

To write – the early hours and just before a deadline. My study looks a mess with maps laid out on a side desk, trolleys full of books, and overflowing “In” trays but 99% of the time I can lay my hands on what I want. The one habit I can’t cure is writing vital  information on the backs of envelopes and then spending days looking for them.

Do you feel guilty if you don’t write?

Guilty no – writing is my passion. I feel immensely privileged to be able to make my living doing something I love and I will never regard writing as work.

What about procrastination? Does it affect you? How do you get over it?

Procrastination comes with research. I don’t know what I’m looking for until I find it and always do far more than necessary. Writers’ Block? Sign a contract and you can’t afford it.

How do you fit in social networking and self-promotion?

I accept I’m dreadful self-promotion. Social networking sites I see as a mixed blessing. I’ve made some wonderful friends through them and they’ve enabled me to keep in touch with the cast and crew who worked on the film of my book By Any Name. After seeing how hard they worked on set during 20 hour days it’s wonderful to watch their careers taking off.  I try to visit my Catrin Collier and Katherine John Facebook pages daily and occasionally  tweet if I’m setting up a book promotion or giveaway. An author’s life is not lunches at the Ivy and publishing parties, (although I’ve enjoyed both ) but 99% writing. Family and social time (real life) is rare and precious. My children and grandchildren live at a distance and lead busy lives. I told Susan Sallis once that I live simply. Her reply, ‘Is there another way for a writer?’

Who do you live with?  Family, children, animals, alone?

My husband, John and occasionally if he’s in the area our eldest son Ralph. We have an adorable Labrador, and two cats, (one a gift from an editor). They are last of the menagerie my children accumulated.

Do you still live in Swansea? 

I live on the edge of the Gower Peninsula. We once placed an auction bid on a derelict isolated cottage on Rhossili Down. I wrote a ghost story about the house and withdrew the bid. Ridiculous? I know, but I couldn’t have lived there after imagining horrific events. Several of my books are set in Pontypridd, which in some ways will always be home. Whenever I return I’m surrounded by real friends, the kind who are supportive even when you phone them at four in the morning.

My most successful book, One Last Summer was inspired by a trip to my mother’s home town of Allenstein now Olzstyn in Poland. She fled the Red Army in 1945 and in 1995 we returned to the dream house her father had built for his family in 1936. For the first time she talked about her upbringing in Nazi Germany, her father’s death when she was twelve, and what it was like to refugee with nothing more than the clothes she stood up in. She gave me her own and her mother’s wartime diaries. I used actual events, created fictional characters and penned, One Last Summer. To my amazement, after being told by several editors no one wanted to read a wartime book written from the German perspective, One Last Summer sold in translation, became a bestseller in several European countries and there are even pirated editions in Turkey. It’s also recommended reading on the Holocaust Day Memorial website.

 Does the area you live in affect your writing? 

The stories I  burn to write  affect my writing more than my location.  Swansea Girls was set in the town and encompassed some of my own experiences, but I’ve written about Tiger Bay in Cardiff, Craig y Nos in the Swansea Valley and two of my most successful books were set in Poland. One trilogy is  set in Mesopotamia during the First World War (modern Iraq) the other features John Hughes the Welsh entrepreneur who founded a steelworks and town in the Donbass in Ukraine, a beautiful country.

When did you first know you wanted to write?

I can’t recall a time when I didn’t. One of my earliest school memories is being  punished for writing a story in block capitals about pigs falling down a well and landing on the moon instead of practising joined up writing.

How many books have you written,  what is your latest title and your relationship with your characters?

Written – probably over a hundred. Published – 52 under six pseudonyms. (Not sure how that happened) I’ve also written 3 film scripts in the last year. Characters –  Alexander Cordell told me that he had to kill one of his because she was haunting him. At the time I didn’t understand. Shortly afterwards I finished a  book at 4 in the morning and picked up the telephone to talk to a friend who would understand my elation. I only realised I was trying to contact my fictional detective, Trevor Joseph when I tried to dial. So yes, Alex, they haunt you. Occasionally I feel my study is filled with their ghosts and now Owain Glyndwr  has moved in.

How do you begin writing a book?

The historical – with the story. I populate it with characters representative of the era e.g. the Beggars and Choosers, trilogy, has striking miners, strike-breaking police and soldiers, and business people who risked bankruptcy by extending credit to miners.   One Last Summer, Prussian Junkers whose families had lived in East Prussia since the thirteenth century as my family had done, Russians, Poles and American and English soldiers. Publishers demand outlines. I rarely stick to initial thoughts. One editor rang me midway through the 8th book of the Hearts of Gold series. After a brief conversation she said, “Did you hear that? It was your outline hitting the bin.”

How long does it take you to complete a novel?

The longest was probably Long Road to Baghdad which I started when I was working full-time. I spent two years researching before I wrote a word or developed a character and ten years writing the book. The shortest, a Katherine John crime book By Any Name, I completed the first draft in 3 weeks. As with most of my crime books I started with an image. A bloodstained man (not his blood) running down a motorway at night into oncoming traffic. I had to finish it  because curious, I didn’t know who he was or why he was there. I realise that probably sounds crazy but it’s the way I write crime. Filmed by Tanabi, starring Cengiz Dervis and Samira Mohammed Ali it was released on Amazon Prime in 2017

How much planning and research do you do?

 The historical Colliers demand enormous research. The stories are factually based, written in “actual event time”. Aside from archives I try to interview as many “experts” as I can. Either survivors of the era, if it’s within living memory ,or academics if it’s not.

Do you go out to do your research?

I try to visit the area my books are set in – although Iraq proved difficult. One Last Summer was the result of the trip I made with my mother to her childhood home in East Prussia and after it was published the Polish Libraries invited me to give talks, I’ve returned several time since.  I love travelling and the largest file on my computer is my outline file. There are synopsis of books waiting to be written set in Africa – Antigua – Russia – Albania – Cuba – China – Turkey – USA . . .

What was your first novel and how many have you written now?

 My first full-length novel was Heir to the Dragons, Guinevere’s life before she met Arthur. I wrote it after ignoring Alexander Cordell’s sterling advice “to write what I knew”. I entered it for the Georgette Heyer Memorial prize and it returned so quickly I wondered if I put it in the stamped addressed envelope. I hadn’t. My second full-length novel was set during a slave uprising in Cuba in 1814. Neither sold. My third novel Long Road to Baghdad gained me a commission to write a book set in Wales during the thirties – Hearts of Gold. But Hearts wasn’t my first published book. That was a Katherine John crime, Without Trace.

What are you currently working on?

Glyndwr 2 Glorious Shall Their Dragon be.

I’ve completed the first book in a trilogy that may run into a quartet of historical novels, featuring the life of Owain Glyndwr. When the director friend who’d filmed “By Any Name” (now on Amazon Prime) suggested I research the life of legendary Welsh Hero Owain Glyndwr, with a view to turning the project into both book and film I knew very little about Glyndwr . Now I believe he was  the greatest Welsh patriot, military tactician, politician and philosopher who lived.
I began  by reading as many translations of original medieval manuscripts as I could lay my hands on, some like the  “Pennal Letter” written by Glyndwr himself. He was a devoted husband, father, family man, highly educated linguist, and in turn, soldier and warrior, lawyer who practised in London’s Inns of court, politician, country squire, charismatic leader, and courtier but above all a noble of Welsh royal lineage. (and like all Welsh nobles despised by the nobility of Norman extraction)
The wealthiest Welsh Lord of his time, he could have settled into a comfortable old age surrounded by his wife, children, friends and bards, instead he sacrificed everything he valued, his family, wealth and life for the cause for Welsh freedom. Six hundred years ago he dreamed of a Welsh Parliament with representatives elected from and by the free Welsh, two Welsh universities one in the North and one the South staffed by the most learned Welsh, and a Welsh church free from the corruption of Canterbury. His thinking was centuries ahead of his time. A hero who now lives in my head as well as my book, and one I am looking forward to furthering my acquaintance with.

Writing Place Readers like to know if authors use the kitchen table, a shed in the garden, have a beautiful study or a cupboard under the stairs. Where do you write? Have you a special desk, pictures, a view from the window?

I have a book lined study apart from the window. Above my enormous desk are photographs of my family dating back to 1850, some from the Welsh side, some from the East Prussian. When the Red Army marched into Allenstein my grandmother had less than 5 minutes to pack and leave her family home. She abandoned her jewellery but took the family photographs. Aside from books, there are gifts from my children including mechanical jumping pigs and pictures drawn by my grandchildren which sit next to my accounts and business files I only have to go into the room switch on the computer and look around to feel the need to write.