The Holly Groweth Green by Amy Rae Durreson

One day turns into two, turns into three, until 12 days have gone by. Does it matter that Avery seems a bit mad, proclaiming he can do magic? When his train is delayed due to bad weather, his little trek to the village gets him lost in the woods, and there he finds a friendly Avery ready and willing to play the gracious host. It’s a pretty little place these days, and the only settlement of any size for miles and miles.This really for me, captured the holiday winter spirit.Īs per the blurb, Laurence is on his way home, released from military service after suffering a head injury during the war. His grand plan was a financial failure, but by then the original settlement further up the valley had been flattened. Newcastleton is a relatively young village, built in the 1790s by a local landowner as a model village for weavers. Heading out with a spring in my step, I began the climb out of the village. The first day began with surprise Bucks Fizz over breakfast, courtesy of the other couple staying at the guest house, who were celebrating their silver wedding and insisting on splitting the bottle around the table. You’ll have to excuse the occasional giddy tone to this write-up, because the whole trip was one of those magical holidays you just fall into sometimes, to the extent that I’m feeling bad about inflicting such a nasty ghost on such a wonderful place. The loop took me from the village of Newcastleton, where I was staying, up into Kershope forest, and then down to the border, along it for a few miles, and then back up an abandoned railway line to the village).

I was delighted to see that the longest one in there was very close to a hike I’d had my protagonist do early in the book (he’s younger and fitter than me, so does a longer loop, but this was as close as I was willing to try). One of the first things I picked up when I got to my guesthouse was a guide to local walking routes. I’ve been writing from the comfort of my study in the home counties, but I was beginning to hit the limits of what I could do without setting my feet on the ground and breathing in the actual place, so last week I headed north for three days to see it for real.

A little bit of fun with a set of randomly generated map coordinates landed me dead on the border at the bottom of Liddesdale, which turned out to be a place with more history and legends than any one book can do justice to. Some of you will know, from odd comments I’ve made here and there, that I’m working on a new ghost story set in the Scottish borders.

The Holly Groweth Green by Amy Rae Durreson