Angela Goode

Once I was a farmer and mustered cattle on our farm among the redgums. I rode my horse along quiet tracks and contemplated the state of the world to the rhythm of hoofbeats.
I also spent many hours in our John Deere. I raked lucerne being made into silage and carted bales into rows so they could be wrapped to start their fermentation process. I then fed out those bales from late summer until there was enough green pick in the paddocks after the season broke. After thirteen years of labouring in the paddocks while my man worked away from the farm, it was time to get back to writing. After long discussions on the verandah of the elegant old stone home watching the setting sun, the decision was eventually made. We would sell the farm which we loved. It had been 28 years since the wool floor price crash in 1992 and our arrival in a district where many were numb from the shock of their sheep suddenly being worthless. We watched as paddocks were turned into vineyards, planted with blue gums or grew cereal crops. We installed our Hereford cattle stud in the paddocks and held on-property sales of our bulls. They were exciting times. I overhauled the old garden, built a stone wall and planted roses and trees for beauty and shade.

Saying goodbye to the farm was easier than we expected. We were happy to leave unpredictable seasons, prices and constant work.

We moved south to Mount Gambier. We live half way up the volcano after which the city is named.
For a writer whose head is always bursting with questions and story ideas, the location seems entirely fitting.

In October 2020, our furniture, books and tools arrived. It took a year for me to unpack. For a pair of ex-farmers, a place with a lot of space was essential. Our garden is 1.8 acres. It is mainly deciduous trees and lawn on quite a steep slope of deep dark volcanic soil. One of the first things we built was a chook house. It is in the lowest corner of the block in an orchard of excellent fruit trees.

My writing space is in my Cave, a room under the house, facing north and warmed in winter by the sun.

In 18 months, I rewrote the historical novel I had worked on between tractor driving and cattle work.
The novel is set in 1830s England during the time of Reform of the House of Commons. It is the compelling story of a compassionate young man who is transported for writing a threatening letter. I stumbled on this tale during a conversation and it seemed to me that there must have been more to it than just the letter. After much research here and in England, I discovered that is indeed the case. Taking the side of his starving village friends, the young man who was a footman for an influential MP was caught up in the politics of Whigs and Tories. He eventually worked with the Governor of New South Wales, a humanitarian who brought the principles of Reform to Australia. The footman's stance against rich men's disregard for starving workers was vindicated when he witnessed the colony's progress towards egalitarianism, education for all, secret ballots, respect for Aboriginal people and convicts. He was pardoned from his Life sentence.
The novel is called 'The Footman of Corsham Court'.
I am currently submitting to agents in London and Australia to find a publisher. Wish me luck!