The Background Story of Valentines Cup
I bought this wonderful sepia photograph in Switzerland many years ago. As we can see, it depicts two skiers traversing the mountains above Wengen in the 1930s. A moment frozen in time: two men recreationally attired; their wooden skis attached to their mountain boots with stout leather bindings. There is nobody else in sight; skiing has yet to be invented as a leisurely pastime.
One evening before bed, I looked at this photograph as if seeing it for the first time. It was more than a look; I was bizarrely captivated by it. Questions sprung to mind: Who were these people? What was the world they lived in? More specifically perhaps, how was the photograph taken? Technically not easy: the two were certainly moving at a fair lick.
I Went To Bed and Thought No More
The following morning, I travelled on the train from East Anglia down to Bristol.
I was meeting the UWE (University of the West of England) team to discuss recording my audio drama ‘Brunel’s Vision – One Single Ticket.’ I took out my notebook and pen. The journey was a blur. Liverpool Street Station, the London Underground, Paddington and the GWR. By the time I’d reached Bath Spa, I had hand-written eighty pages.
My skiers were two brothers named Alistair and Freddie Valentine. They lived at Chalet Monte Rosa in Zermatt, although they had been born in England. They lived with their mother Christina and a mysterious character always known as Herr Seiler.
It was clear in my mind; this sepia photograph had been taken before their careers kicked into action. Alistair would work in the wine trade in London, before being recruited into British Intelligence by Professor Brimblecombe.
Freddie would join the RAF; but his service as a Spitfire ‘ace’ pilot would be cut short because of ridiculous accident. He too would become a spy, like his brother.
As the train pulled into Bristol Temple Meads, I was now looking at eighty pages of a fast-paced story. It was brisk because I was writing at speed, anxious to commit everything to paper.
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Photography copyright © Fritz Lauener
The Journey Home
The four days with my ‘Brunel Team’ was fabulously productive and enjoyable. I forgot all about Alistair and Freddie … until the train journey back. I re-read my scribble, making notes and deletions. Once home, I typed up my story and gave it to a trusty few. Feedback was positive. Points were raised: anachronisms and mistakes addressed. But I knew I had a good plot that had possibilities.
A week or so later, I attended the Frinton Literary Evening which was hosted by our local bookshop. One of the guest speakers was an author called Fergus McNeill, a canny Scot who’d just had a book published. During the interval I got chatting to him: Get it read,’ he said enthusiastically,‘by a local library reader group. They can be brutal, but the exercise is important: reading is what they do!’
And I did. Their response showed incredible insight. I followed some of their suggestions. The lockdown gave me a chance to sit down with a friend – a retired teacher and linguist – to read the whole draft out loud and hear how it sounded.
Did the narrative capture the same pace as my original handwritten draft on the train? I can only hope it did and that you enjoy sharing the lives of those two skiers in the photograph.