The Forgotten Garden was born out of two images that wouldn't leave me alone.
In fact the first had beenhanging around for years,
even before I wrote The Shifting Fog.
My husband's family migrated from
Sweden to Australia in the early years
of the twentieth century and my mother-in-law,
who's a keen family historian, often told us stories
of their journey. One that always struck a chord with me was of
the death of one of the children en route.
There were seven children in the family and they were left to their own devices for the most part because their mother was busy below deck with her infant son.
As the ship crossed the equator one of the four year old twins died from sunstroke.
I couldn't get this story out of my mind-the beautiful Swedish children on a sunny deck,
long white dresses and long blonde hair-and in my imagination the focus narrowed so that
I saw only the little girl twirling along the deck. Somehow the deck became a wharf,
and the little girl obtained a small white suitcase, which she was sitting on, all alone as night began to fall.
- Who was she? I wondered.
- Why was she alone?
- And what would happen to her if no one came looking?
The second image that presented itself when I was in the dreaming stage of The Forgotten Garden, was of a woman hurrying along a narrow cobbled lane. I knew it was London in the early twentieth century. I could see only the hem of her long skirt, but I could hear it rustling and her heels clipping, as she hurried along the road.
- Who was she?
- Where was she going?
- Why was she in such a hurry?
I always knew that when I figured out the answers to these questions I'd be able to write the stories to which the two images belonged.
It was a great surprise though, when I finally worked out who they were and what they were doing, to also realize that they belonged together in the same book.
Along with such images, I drew on personal inspiration... follow me