Elizabeth Hopkinson's Hidden Grove

  Our Lady of Montevergine by Anna Hopkinson Please note: This article does not intend to appropriate the lived experience of Black or Romani people, gay men or traditional Third Genders. Please read the linked articles for wider perspectives. Night was drawing on fast, and with it temperatures none could survive. The ground was covered in a crust of snow. The lovers’ extremities began to turn blue. By morning, if the wolves didn’t hurry, early walkers would find two bodies encased in blocks of ice. But it was not the wolves who came. It was the Madonna. The Black Madonna, they called her. Our Lady of the Shadow-Side.  It’s Pride Month and - aside from posting rainbows and reminders that the A in LGBTQIA+ isn’t silent - I’m crowdfunding a book of Diverse & Inclusive Saints called Legends from Lindisfarne.  One of the most obviously Pride-centred stories in the book is called “Our Lady of Montevergine: Affirmer of Same Sex Couples”. It’s a retelling of a medieval legend about a Blac

Grandma & Grandad, c.1940-43 There are a lot of misconceptions about history. One that I frequently encounter regarding the two World Wars of the 20th century, is that men were either classified as fighting fit and sent to armed combat overseas, or classified unfit for service and stayed at home. I’ve never seen a historical drama that represents my Grandad’s experience in the Pioneer Corps during World War II. Luckily, the family still has photos and documents from the time, which help tell his story. And I’m lucky to have Grandad’s own words, in the transcript of an interview I did for a school project in the 1980s. So, here is the story of my Grandad, and many other men like him. David Macrae Cumming was born in 1916 in Lochore, Fife, and moved with his family to Sunderland following the General Strike of 1926. He was an intelligent boy, who got a scholarship to grammar school, but was not allowed to take it up. As the eldest son, his father wanted him to work in the family hair

  Back in February, I wrote a piece for LGBT+ History Month about the castrati singers of the 18th century , and my character Carlo in the forthcoming Cage of Nightingales. In that piece, I said, “It’s impossible for us now to know what the leading castrati really sounded like.” That may still be true. (The intense levels of training they went through from boyhood would probably be illegal now, never mind the actual castration). But just this week, I made a discovery I can’t believe I have not made before. There are real-life male sopranos. True sopranos, as opposed to counter-tenors, who sing in their falsetto range, thereby only using part of the vocal cord. (Imagine plucking a guitar string while holding the string a long way down the bridge, to make the note extra-high). True sopranos sing with all their vocal cord vibrating (unless they go into falsetto, which is extra-extra-high!) Which means you’re going to get a much more resonant sound. Entirely by accident, I saw a news repor

  This time last week, I was at the joy that is Bradford Literature Festival. My whole town taken over by all things book-related! I went to three completely different talks, two of which I had bought and read the books for in advance. (The other one I will probably buy when it comes out in paperback). They were: The Secret Diaries of Charles Ignatius Sancho by Paterson Joseph Painted People: Humanity in 21 Tattoos by Matt Lodder Among the Eunuchs: A Muslim Transgender Journey by Leyla Jagiella Three completely different subjects. But what they had in common was that they were all about people on the fringes of society’s so-called norms: Black Britons in the Georgian era; people who have decorated their own skin; traditional third genders in India and Pakistan, along with transgender Muslims. I’m by nature a curious person, who is drawn to anything different to me. So I’m keen to learn about and include these histories. But it seems that society in general is much less interested, and

  The Hu onstage at Liverpool’s O2 Academy I’ll admit that things have not been easy for me since my last blog. There’s a lot of (understandable) hurt and anger out there when it comes to cultural issues. And I’m not emotionally robust enough to take it. Which is why it was so restorative this week to finally see one of my favourite bands - The Hu - live onstage in Liverpool. It was my first time at a “proper” rock concert, and my first time in Liverpool, so definitely one for the bucket list. Jaya and Gala fronting the band For those who don’t know them, The Hu are a Mongolian folk-rock band of eight musicians, who combine traditional Mongolian throat singing and instruments such as the Morin Khuur (pictured above, played by Gala) with metal beats and guitars. (It’s called Hunnu Rock). They sing entirely in Mongolian, and the lyrics are mainly about aspects of traditional Mongolian culture, respecting the ancestors and nature. They say their mission is to unite people through music, t

  In 2021, I wrote a blog post entitled Unconscious Bias: A Conscious Confession , in which I recognised my own tendency to make first-impression judgements based on names, accents, colour, appearance etc. Well, now I'm confessing to the presence of blind spots as regards my own White Privilege. Specifically relating to my favourite fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast. A couple of weeks back, I made the hideous mistake of posting a plot analysis of Our Flag Means Death based on Beauty and and the Beast in a private fan group. My innocently-meant observations ended up seriously upsetting another fan by tapping into 600 years of colonial hurt. I apologised and took the post down. I don't intend to repeat what I posted there, as that would defeat the object of removing it. But I would like to talk about some of the issues involved and how I could have missed them. The Problem My fellow-fan alerted me to the dangers inherent in casting Stede and Ed as Beauty and the Beast, given that