When when word got around that William Wood had put together a whole story collection inspired by snapshots of life in the village where he lived, some people were a bit worried.

“Am I in it?”

“You didn’t write about what happened to X, did you?”

“Where do you get your ideas from?” — A question people so often ask writers.

Story ideas come from the smallest seeds sometimes. If, for example, you have a raised patio – an ocularium – from which you can see the village green, half an hour in your patio chair with a cup of coffee can set so many ideas running.

Here, William Wood, author of Village Secrets, shares with us some of the recent seeds he’s collected.

It was a hot day, unusual for Cumbria. Already David had noticed 3 things:

1. He went into Appleby to buy milk and juice. Most people were attired in shorts and T-shirts, appropriate to the temperature which had hardly fallen over night. One elderly man however was having none of it. He was dressed in heavy twill trousers, shirt and cardigan over which he wore a tweed jacket and a rain coat. He even wore gloves. He did not seem ill or uncomfortable for he was talking to a group of people in summer clothes, none of whom seemed to notice anything unusual about him.

2. Sitting out for elevenses on his ocularium he watched a heavy gypsy horse coming down the road, controlled by a long pair of reins held by a woman walking several yards behind him. She seemed to be training the horse to draw a wagon. As they passed David noticed that her long, yellow blonde hair that fell down her back to her bottom exactly matched in form and colour the tail of the horse in front of her. Both the horse’s tail and the pony tail swayed in unison.

3. Shortly after this a white van drew up gleaming in the hot sun. A man opened the sliding door on the side of the van to reveal a dark interior. He leant in to pull something out. Turning to face the sun he opened his arms to reveal a square towel. Where he stood the dazzling light fell on this blood red towel framed against the black background of the van’s interior. It made a perfect picture in colour and composition.

And it was not even mid day!

If you’re lucky enough to have a river-path running by your garden, you are likely to meet more than just the locals. The story-seeds can blow in from miles away…

An old man in walking boots and wearing a rucksack comes by the ocularium. He and David greet one another and he asks in a slow, Cumbrian accent, “do you know the way back from here?”

“That,” David replies thoughtfully, “depends where you came from.”

He considers this while David waits for him to speak, but he remains silent.

“Where did you start out?” prompts David.

“Appleby,” he says.

“That’s a long way on foot.”

“Aye.” He agrees. “Does it matter which way I go back?”

“Well,” David says, trying to think which way, other than the road, there is to go. “It’s in that direction.” He points vaguely up the hill.

“Just as I thought,” he says and goes on his way.

And even if the story-seeds are local, seeds is what they are. By the time the fully fledged story comes to you, the chances are you won’t be able to see the seed any more at all.

A cattle truck draws up and reverses into the field. From his ocularium across the river David watches two men and two woman bring a flock of sheep down towards the truck. Far too many animals it seems, to fit into the space. Despite much flapping and cajoling by the humans the sheep scatter in all directions but the right one when shepherded towards the lorry. Fortunately there is a sensible sheepdog that came with the truck. While the humans gather to discuss their strategy the sheepdog has quietly rounded up the flock and driven them back towards the rear of the vehicle. Once the first few sheep are pressured in the rest of them follow up the ramp like you know what. All the men have to do is lift and close the rear door.

Ah, bring on summer! Remember that ‘not-wet-through’ feeling…?

Summer Afternoon on the Ocularium

It is still very warm when David carries his tea and shortbread on to the ocularium. As he sits down a swarthy man leads a beautiful skewbald shire horse by its halter along the river bank. The horse seems interested in the water and David knows the man will lead him into it and up the river which is very low after a dry, hot month.

David sips his tea and hears children approaching. A six year old girl is towing three younger children in a rubber dinghy as she paddles (in the pedestrian sense) downstream in the river. Three more very young children and two mothers follow along the bank, pausing to talk to the horse. A little boy toddler spots the sheep and chases after them towards the road, rather as London children used to chase after pigeons in Trafalgar Square. One of the mothers catches her child just in time to avoid a tractor that races by pulling a trailer laden with hay bails.

The girls in the dinghy climb ashore but another even younger toddler rushes into the middle of the footbridge and tries to climb the handrail. The other mother catches him before he topples over on to the rocks below.

Then a young friend of David’s walks by with her baby and toddler. She informs him that someone has stolen all the apple juice and the money in the honesty box that her husband had left for sale in the bus shelter. That is the second such theft this month after years of people selling everything from cakes to birthday cards with no problem.

Her little boy peers up at David and asks, “Who’s that people?”

“That’s Uncle David,” she says.

“Hi,” he says.

By the time he has drunk his tea he is damp with sweat. He retreats indoors to cool off in his front room, insulated as it is by its thick stone walls.

Summer will soon be with us again. The Maulds Meaburn village fete is on May 5^th, on the Green or in the Village Hall depending on the weather. Look out for William – he’ll be there with copies of his book, Village Secrets (and probably with a notebook and a pen – if you see William, look out for story seeds!)

Or buy your copy direct from the publisher …