Book description
The marriage of Marcia and Curt Ratheter seemed idyllically happy. As
much in love as on their wedding day, nothing could mar their joy. But
one fateful day in 1931 brought Marcia's world tumbling about her ears
and left her and her two daughters bereft. Barty Bendall had always
loved her, he said; and the girls needed a father. Marcia moved to
Blackburn with him, where she tried to forget the past. Barty, though,
sank into bad ways, tyrannizing the family. In particular he would vent
his aggression on Polly, Curt and Marcia's first-born, blonde as an
angel but afflicted since birth with an ominous shadow over her health.
Even in troubled times, lovely raven-haired Marcia was a fighter. But
the news that Curt Ratheter had reappeared would render her the helpless
prey of wildly conflicting emotions. The story of Josephine Cox is as
extraordinary as anything in her novels. Born in a cotton-mill house in
Blackburn, she was one of ten children. Her parents, she says, brought
out the worst in each other, and life was full of tragedy and hardship -
but not without love and laughter. At the age of sixteen, Josephine met
and married 'a caring and wonderful man', and had two sons. When the
boys started school, she decided to go to college and eventually gained
a place at Cambridge University, though was unable to take this up as it
would have meant living away from home. However, she did go into
teaching, while at the same time helping to renovate the derelict
council house that was their home, coping with the problems caused by
her mother's unhappy home life - and writing her first full-length
novel. Not surprisingly, she then won the 'Superwoman of Great Britain'
Award, for which her family had secretly entered her, and this coincided
with the acceptance of her novel for publication. Josephine gave up
teaching in order to write full time. She says, 'I love writing, both
recreating scenes and characters from my past, together with new
storylines which mingle naturally with the old. I could never imagine a
single day without writing, and it's been that way since as far back as
I can remember.'
