Augustine Nash

Title: The Great Helmsman
Category: Faction
Format: Paperback

Author Profile

Augustine Nash began her working life as a 15-year-old in a glove factory in Leominster. At 16 she wed a young airman who was stationed at RAF Shobdon. She and Victor have now been married over fifty years and have a son, two daughters and several grand-children and great-grandchildren.

Augustine's working career included a long spell in nursing but she is also a talented artist and has illustrated two children's books. Not to mention the fact that she does beautiful embroidery and has several other hobbies including flower arranging and knitting.

At the age of 54, she turned her undoubted skills to yet another hobby - writing.

Augustine has a rare talent - her ability to mingle fiction with fact and the skill to take her readers back into historic times with vivid descriptions of people and places, all interwoven into fascinating stories. This is what we call Faction.

Augustine first developed an interest in the Nez Perce Indian tribe of Northern America after reading about them in a local newspaper. She spent two years researching the tribe and a further two years writing her novel, Shadow of the Eagle. After many rejections, the book was published by Bloozoo in 2002.

The sequel to Shadow of the Eagle - Black Eagle Returns - was published in 2003 by Rhapsody. Another novel entitled Thorkell the Great - a story about Saxon life in 8th Century East Anglia - was due to be published during 2004 but the publisher failed to fulfil his promises. If the legal situation can be resolved, we hope to publish the book under the GoldStar banner. In the meantime, we are pleased to present Augustine's fourth novel, The Great Helmsman.

Book Price: £8.99

Synopsis

This fictional novel, set in China in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, tells the story of the peasants' uprising against their tyrannical imperial rulers and the rich landowners who make their lives so intolerable. Sun-sei, the fourth child of poor farmers in Shaoshan Chung, befriends another boy in his village whose parents are much richer than his own. But there is another major difference: while Sun-sei accepts his lot, Mao Tse-tung nurtures a dream that China will one day belong to the people. The friends drift apart as Mao takes advantage of educational opportunities that are denied to Sun-sei but they meet again years later when Sun-sei finally forsakes his unhappy life to join the Long March - the march that will ultimately determine China's destiny.

Writing in her unique and imitable style, Augustine Nash again combines fact and fiction just as she has in her previous novels. The history of China's revolution is accurately portrayed but it is cleverly combined with a love story that will move readers through many emotions.

Taster ...

The year is 1893. Far away in her summer palace near Peking, Tz’u-hsi, the Empress Dowager of China, could think of nothing but her forthcoming sixtieth birthday. As this special year of 1894 approached, she was planning to mark the occasion with celebrations which would long be remembered, outdoing all that had gone before. And she was vain enough to think the people revered her above all others.

As in the past, the Great Stone Road between the Summer Palace and Peking was once again filled with envoys travelling from afar, all summoned to come and pay their respects to a woman who had ruled over them with an iron will for many years; all bringing with them many fine gifts as befitted such a grand celebration - silks, robes, furs, jewels and all manner of exotic luxuries brought through poverty-stricken areas of China which had in recent times suffered from severe drought.

To demonstrate their loyalty, all the Dowager’s officials and servants were expected to contribute towards this illustrious occasion by each giving a quarter of their wages; this adding up to the grand total of thirty million taels for a celebration which was doomed never to take place.

Things were rapidly changing. In Korea the Tong Hak group of nationalists rose up in rebellion, wishing to get rid of both their Japanese and Chinese overlords, and everywhere there was general unrest. Yet none of this was known in the small Hunanese village of Shaoshan which only received news long after the event had taken place.

*

It was the twenty-sixth of December, in the year of the rat. At five in the morning, in ‘the hour of the hare’, I was born to my poor peasant parents who already had three children to feed – all girls. At almost the same time, on the far side of the village, Mao Tse-tung – a name to be long remembered - had beaten me into the world by just half an hour. My own name was to be of little significance in the way of things yet, in time, our lives would be intertwined in what became the hardest and most glorious period of my life.

Because I was the first son born into a family of daughters there should have been great rejoicing. In my case, this was not so for, at this moment in time, my father was struggling to keep his head above water. The landowner was now taking more than half the grain father grew and what was left over was hardly enough to feed our family. Each new day brought with it more despair.

While I loudly exercised my lungs, my mother, Li-En-powi, lay staring upwards, her long, loose black hair cascading down round her shoulders. Normally it was drawn back into a neat bun which had a way of making her attractive features appear gaunt. Tears trickled down her cheeks because, even though I was her first son, secretly she had not wanted me. In my early years this was often brought home to me by her obvious marked indifference.

Angrily, she brushed away the tears thinking This will not do! Soon she would have to rise from her bed and carry on as normal, no matter how she was feeling. Giving birth did not excuse her from doing her share of the chores. Besides, this was the day of the street market where sometimes bargains could be had if she got there at the right time of day.

Shortly, my three elder sisters stole into the room and stood timidly, examining me with great interest.

“He is beautiful, mother,” the eldest one said, smiling with pleasure. “You must be thankful that at last he has arrived.”

The others nodded in agreement.

My mother managed an exhausted smile, not revealing her true feelings. It was her husband, Hu-Kiang, who had desperately wanted a son, not her. But then, he did not have to go through those dreadful birthing pangs. She had not wished to have any more children but there had been little choice in the matter. Now, here beside her lay another mouth to feed and as usual my father had made all the decisions.

A short while after my sisters had left, my father came in, smiling with pride. “This is the finest moment of my life, my dear. A son! I had begun to think we could only produce useless daughters.”

Again my mother smiled as father bent to kiss her cheek.

“I am leaving now,” he continued, “as I have a long walk to the moneylender’s house. I hope I will find him in a generous mood.”

“I am sure you will,” mother gravely answered, struggling up in bed.

Once Hu-Kiang had left she began to don her baggy black trousers and floral top, these being her working clothes. From her lips she uttered a heartrending sigh. They were already deeply in dept to the moneylender; debt which would take years to pay back.

Leaving me on the bed she went to get herself a cup of green tea, before starting the day.

*

Hu-Kiang had been climbing steadily upwards for almost an hour when he paused to take a short rest, as usual, inspired by the landscape stretching out before him in varying shades of winter grey. He never got tired of feasting his eyes upon the huge distant lake and, despite morning mist drifting across the surface of the water, patches of sparkling light still managing to break through. Rising steeply above this, mountains of red and grey rock with just a few sparse trees growing out of the crevices; trunks bent in all sorts of abnormal shapes caused by the strong winds.

In springtime, the countryside would once again come alive with colour. Tender green shoots of half grown corn, coupled with brilliant yellow rape fields. All this reflected with the darker green of the eucalyptus trees dotted across the landscape. Houses scattered here and there with low, dark blue slated roofs, many surrounded by thick clumps of bamboo. Everything in Hu-Kiang’s world seemed to revolve in perpetual slow motion.

A short while later, he reached the house of Tu-Ling - the moneylender who had grown immensely prosperous through the weakness of others. His large home nestled on the lee side of the hill, the four red-tiled roofs bearing an elegant outline, decorated underneath the eaves with blue and green dragons; surrounding the house, a high wall with just one grand gated entrance.

Hu-Kiang walked through the well-kept garden where at intervals piles of rocks had been placed in an artistic manner. He came to a narrow ornate humped-back bridge spanning a stream of clear running water, briefly pausing to admire the vivid orange and white fish darting about in its depths. The path led Hu-Kiang into a large enclosed courtyard where he found one of the servants sweeping up leaves. The woman, dressed in faded black baggy trousers and top, turned to regard him. Then, after a few moments, she asked, “Can I be of help?”

“I wish to speak with Tu-Ling, if he is at home,” he answered.

Putting her brush to one side, the servant instructed, “Wait here. I will go and enquire.”

A short while later, the moneylender appeared. “Ha! It is you, Hu-Kiang. Have you eaten?” he politely enquired, as was the custom.

“Not today,” Hu-Kiang admitted, suddenly becoming aware how hungry he was feeling.

Tu-Ling smiled. “Please enter my home. You are just in time to join my family meal.”

On entering the room, Hu-Kiang saw that the meal had already started. Even so, a place and bowl was quickly set for him to join the others.

“Help yourself,” Tu-Ling graciously offered, taking his place.

It was a long time since Hu-Kiang had seen so much food; a far cry from his own family’s poor daily fare. Taking pride of place in the centre, a huge bowl of rice mixed with small pieces of fish, including a head which stared up at him with glassy eyes. Surrounding this, many small decorated red bowls filled with all manner of food, some he did not even recognise. Throughout the meal silence reigned with Tu-Ling’s wife and children glancing up to smile shyly at him from time to time.

After the meal, he was led through the house on to a wide balcony, there to be served with tiny bowls of tea and hot towels to wipe his hands. Once this ritual had been observed, Tu-Ling broke the silence by softly enquiring, “How may I be of service to you, Hu-Kiang?”

Hu-Kiang was a proud man, hating himself for having to answer, “I need another loan to feed my family. It will be even harder in the future now we have another mouth to feed.”

The moneylender smiled, his greedy mind reaching out to find the means of securing an even deeper hold on this man. “Might I enquire if this joyous event has brought forth a male or female child?”

This time it was Hu-Kiang’s face which beamed with happiness. “I have been blessed with a son,” he replied, unmistakable pride sounding in his voice.

“A son! Ah! In many ways he surely comes at a time of both rejoicing and sadness,” the moneylender remarked, thoughtfully stroking his goatee beard. “However, there is another way all your problems could be solved at once. As you know I have fathered only two girls and fear that my wife is now getting past child-bearing age.” He paused before urging, “Sell me your son and I will cancel the debt of money you owe me. No-one can say I am not fair so, to seal the bargain, you may also keep your entire crop next year.”

Horrified, Hu-Kiang angrily burst out, “Sell my son? After such a long time praying for his birth? Never! Rather than that, I will starve to death.”

Tu-Ling stood up, responding, “Then I can do nothing to help you. The choice is yours. If you should change your mind you know where to find me.” Then he bowed and disappeared through the beaded curtain into the house.

On his way back down towards the village, Tu-Ling thought over half the day is already gone and all for nothing. What was worse, he was going home empty handed. What was to be done now?

*

It was approaching ‘the hour of the horse’ when my mother left the house to go to the market, setting out with her basket over one arm and wearing her wide-brimmed straw hat, though there was little sun to speak of on this colourless morning, leaving me to be fussed over by my sisters.

Normally she attended the market long before this hour but my birth had delayed her. A tiredness close to exhaustion came over her as she walked across the bridge spanning a stream, then on past a small tea-shop where old men had gathered to gossip. Li-En-powi felt deep resentment towards her husband for expecting her to rise so quickly from her bed after birthing. He was a hard man who hardly ever saw things in her light.

A few more steps brought her to the old man’s kitchen on wheels. Whatever the weather, he could be found from early morning serving a quick breakfast to those on their way to work. He smiled, calling out to her, “You wish for a bowl of hot rice soup, or noodles, Missy?”

Shaking her head, my mother hurried right on by knowing that if she stopped she might well be tempted. But there was no money for such extravagances. Further on up the road she came to the market which was surprisingly quiet. That was because most would be at their mid-day meal. She wandered along the line of people sitting cross-legged on the ground with their baskets of wares placed either side of them - mainly vegetables grown on their own small allotments. Laid out on leaves were small silver fish and a little fruit, which was in short supply at this time of year.

Right next to the boy selling water treated with colour, Li-En-powi stopped and spoke to the next trader. “Good-day to you, Chu. Have you any bargains for me today?”

Though Chu was elderly, she walked eight miles to sell what she had at the market in the village of Shao-shan. A poor women, though possessing a heart of gold, for a few moments she eyed Li-En-powi up and down, her old eyes never missing anything. “I see you have given birth since I last saw you,” she observed.

“Yes, born this very day in the early hours of the Hare. A son … which, no doubt, my husband will dote on.”

Chu was a keen observer of human nature. She noticed there was no sign of happiness written on the other woman’s face. Now, I wonder why that is? she thought to herself. A first son was to be celebrated: red ribbons would be festooned on the trees outside the house to let everyone know the sex of the new arrival. Cards would be sent and gifts received. Abruptly brushing these thoughts to one side, she asked, “You want your usual order?” Then, as Chu went about selecting the best vegetables for her customer, she related the latest news. “I hear that Mao Jen-sheng and his wife, Wen Chi-mei, have also been blessed with a son during the early hours before the cock crows. Rumour has it that the child is to be known as Mao Tse-tung.”

Li-En-powi sniffed disdainfully. “He will not want for much,” she bitterly answered, handing over the last of her money, trying not to worry what would happen when this food was all gone.

“You are right there. Mao Jen-sheng has always been known as thrifty, which has brought him much standing in the community.”

Li-En-powi had an overwhelming urge to leave, so nodded and went on her way. A little way on, she paused to watch two old men concentrating on a game of chess. Lines had been drawn on the ground, neither being fortunate enough to own a board. A few interested spectators gathering round them in a circle. Taking their time, the two rivals carefully considering their next move, shifting their carved wooden pieces along straight lines, stopping only for a short interval to light and sit contentedly drawing on their pipes.

With reluctance, Li-En-powi moved on, fearful of being accused by her husband of wasting precious time. By the time she reached home, my father had already returned. At once she saw that something was wrong by the slump of his shoulders, as if he had been defeated in some great battle.

At first mother thought it was something to do with me, by the manner in which my father walked up and down trying to pacify my screaming. “He is hungry,” he accused, no doubt wanting her to feel guilty.

Li-En-powi took me in her arms, hardly wishing to ask the dreaded question, at the same time not being able to contain herself. “Did you manage to get a loan to tide us over?” she anxiously asked, feeling a wave of sickness in her stomach. She must have something to eat before she came over faint.
“No. Chu did make me an offer which I declined,” my father answered defensively.

“You actually refused, when we have ruin staring us in the face?”

“What option did I have? I would never have gone along with his proposition.”

Li-En-powi could hardly believe her ears. Was her husband loosing his presence of mind? For once her voice rose in protest. “Might I be allowed to know what Chu was offering? We are in no position to nurture pride, or worry about loss of face. That is only for those who can afford it.”

Hu-Kiang sighed aloud. “It was not like that. The moneylender wished to adopt our son and even offered to allow me to keep all next year’s crop of rice, foregoing his share.”

If father thought hearing these words would shock mother, he was sadly mistaken. Grasping at straws, she now saw me as a burden. Here was a way out. “Then so be it. I have no objections in Chu taking the child,” she firmly answered, for once insisting that she should be given a hearing.

Years later, on a day when we were working side by side in the fields, father explained to me how he had felt, horrified that my mother wanted to give me away without a second thought. He had not read any signs of regret in her eyes.

Way back then he had angrily retaliated. “Shame on your house that you wish to do such a thing! Haven’t I waited with longing all these years for his arrival? Girls are useful in their place, but a son is there to work at his father’s side. To provide money for us in our old age. I will never agree to such a thing.”

“Perhaps in time to come we will have another child,” my mother suggested, knowing she would do all in her power to prevent this happening.

“What? For you to suggest we give him away as soon as we suffer any hardship?”

Overwhelmed, with a sense of being buried alive in misery, my mother created a sin of considerable magnitude in my father’s eyes. In voicing out loud thoughts that normally she would have kept hidden. “I never wanted him in the first place! He is just another mouth to feed. Let the moneylender and his wife adopt him as their own. He is bound to get a better life with them. I care not!”
My parents stood staring at each other; those terrible words hanging in the air between them. Words spoken in anger and desperation, yet truly meant.

As usual, my father, as head of the household, made the final decision. “He stays! There are other roads to be explored.” Then he left the house with anger in his heart.

From that moment on there was no happiness between them; the two of them drawing away into their own shells though, on the surface, remaining polite to one another. Neither of them realising it was the beginning of the end.

Love had flown out of the door.

Copyright © 2006 Augustine Nash

Readers' Comments

  Congratulations on publishing Augustine Nash's latest book, The Great Helmsman. I received a copy today and I can't put it down!!! Another great book written with so much passion and emotion. I love reading her work and you are right, her style is so unique.......and so addictive and that's saying something as I only usually read and enjoy non-fiction! - Linda Green, Colchester, UK

I really enjoyed Augustine's first book and felt the characters were real. Would like to read the sequel. - Denise Sparrow, UK