Bob Atkinson
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Spellbinding Historical Fiction


 Time  Warp

3/26/2017

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 At the end of The Last Sunset I wrote that the story was conceived amongst the empty glens and ruined townships of Lochaber.  The events of the 18th and 19th centuries still scar this land. In fact there are glens within ten miles of Fort William where a person can walk all day and not see another living soul. Once heavily populated, these places have now been left to the wind and heather. The past hangs heavy here, and occasionally - just occasionally - moments from those days can be sensed. A brief scent of peat smoke in a ruined settlement. The tang of manure amidst the green swathes of a shieling that haven't seen cattle in two hundred years. Sam's tale from Gettysburg, as told in The Last Sunset, is closely based on a story told to me by a rational, well educated woman, who watched the spectres of ragged clansmen materialise around her campfire by the shores of a remote loch some years ago. On the eve of publication I thought it might be an idea to contact this good lady and let her know what had become of her story.  A few clicks on Facebook, and we were in touch again for the first time in years. She was not only delighted about the book's publication, but retold the tale:   

             I have not told many about my weird and wonderful experience at Loch A.....  Only you and a select few. I thought folk would think I was fanciful.  We went camping for the weekend and found a spot near an old burial ground of the Macmillans. We lit a huge fire and sat having supper. The kids went back to the tent to sleep and we sat on having a dram. Shortly afterwards I looked around and saw three or four figures sitting on a rock above the fire. One of them was very young and was crying. The others seemed to be comforting him, and talking to each other. Although they were near there was no sound, and they were obviously unaware of us or the fire. They were wearing what looked like home-made plaids or blankets wrapped around them, loose floppy bonnets, and their footwear looked ragged. We watched them for a while until they disappeared before our eyes.

Clearly something extraordinary took place that night.  When the book was published I sent my friend a copy containing the message;     

Thank you for sharing your wonderful story. I hope my tale was worthy of yours.

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    Bestselling Author Bob Atkinson lives in the wilds of Scotland where he weaves tales as tall as the standing stones.

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