The Book






Clearly, we liked being busy, and people would sometimes comment: "You two seem to 
do more than some fit people I know!"  We could hardly agree with them, when our slow 
pace could never compete with the quick movements of those around us.  But to each 
other, we did from time to time come back to the idea that perhaps we had a story to tell.  
It was the prospect of laboriously writing it all down that always deterred us from making 
a start.  I imagined that an autobiographer would need to become to inward-looking.  Or 
on the other hand, could we be objective enough?  So, once more, we were trying to 
make a decision, and meet a challenge.

"It would take us ages, and I wouldn't know where to begin," I'd say.

Jack, however, was a little more enthusiastic.  "Can't see where we'll find the time – but 
I'd like to try!  You just scribble something down, and I'll make it presentable," he 
encouraged.

Thus, with Jack tenaciously sticking to the task whenever possible, we gradually formed 
the basis for this book.  Many a time, he had to prompt me into another effort "I've nearly 
finished what you've done – when can you write some more?"

I would quickly grab a pen and paper at odd moments between chores, or settle down to 
writing for an hour in the evenings.  To begin with it was a very peace-meal effort on my 
part, I was so often disturbed when I dearly wanted to have a long spell at my writing.  
Then there were times when I picked up a sheet of Jack's beautifully typed manuscript, 
and erupted indignantly: "You can't put that.  Oh, heck.  We do sound a pious pair."

The atmosphere got very heated until we both learned to give and take a little.  After all, 
it had to be a joint creation, and Jack could not be expected to be a mere copy-typist.

Next, we became members of the Norwich Writers' Circle, pleased to have the sound 
advice and interest of both established and aspiring writers.  Well  meaning criticism 
often resulted in the destruction of several days' work!  But gritting our teeth 
determinedly, we pressed on. Having made up our minds to complete the task, and 
properly, come what may.

For some considerably long time, "The book" became a standing joke.  Whenever we 
met an acquaintance, the inevitable question arose: "How's that book coming along?"

We often welcomed the reminder, having told everybody for the secret purpose of not 
being able to back down, I do believe.

We puzzled our heads for a title for the book.

"Nothing corny please!" I would insist.

But needless  to say, there were many suggestions, one idea being Love on Wheels.  I 
groaned!  Were people just being downright rude?  All Part of Living was a little better, 
but I was still not satisfied.  We considered several other titles before arriving at the 
present one.

There were repeated and unavoidable breaks from writing, when a run of other work 
demanded Jack's typewriter.

"We need to lock ourselves away for a whole year to finish this book – like any other 
self-respecting writer would," he said impatiently.

The gradually, as we moved through the story, with several chapters behind us we 
worked with renewed enthusiasm.  Whenever we sipped a glass of our home-made 
wine, the toast was: "To The Book."