Everybody has a book in them, or so it's said. But it's something else again getting it onto the page and to a place where it might be shared.

I have been writing since I was a young child. Always, my dream was to see my name on the spine of a book. Books gave me life, a dream to live by. Through their portals I could escape so easily into other worlds. Books also saved my life ... yes, really!

This is the story of my books and my journey as an author, including a very personal view of my journey through Life. I hope it will inspire and give hope to writers and readers young and old.

Getting published can be a waiting game. It's hard .. and getting harder. But then sometimes it can happen in an unexpected way and suddenly, we truly are living our dream. And we realise that it isn't after all the winning that is important, but the journey that is ours along the way.

I would love to hear from anyone who connects with what is written here. A signed copy of any of my books is available. You have only to write and ask:

Tuesday 26 January 2016


Hello World,

The question today is: How do you delete someone from your life?

The answer is, of course, it's an impossibility.

Yet this is exactly what 'He' is doing now.

'Do you want all the pictures I took of you?'

Does that include those taken of us on our Wedding Day?

Pictures represent memories, windows into the past ... moments frozen in Time. In a rush, a kaleidoscope of colour immediately flashes before me with all the images I ever had of 'Us' ... the 'Us' that once-upon-a-time brought me unexpectedly to a place I never wanted to return from, my own Heaven on Earth. It becomes a frenetic tale of a back-to-front Cinderella - riches to rags, joy to pain, happiness to mourning. No-one can erase Hope that crept in there somehow. Not even the most careful of hands can replace what is now lost, or put sticking plaster over the still raw, aching, bleeding wounds that refuse to heal.  What was, will remain for a lifetime. No tears of regret at dreams shattered into a zillion pieces, but rather an ocean drowning me at the absolute futility of it all. I didn't do anything wrong except to place my trust in the wrong man ... a man I believed was honest and true rather than the lying, deceitful, cowardly but controlling love cheat he turned out to be ... someone who can pick someone up, and put them down when he's finished with them.

No. I'm not the first, nor will I be the last. It's a familiar story to many. And when it happens to you, it's something you cannot escape. You carry the pain too close in your now fragile heart. Like a piercing knife, some days you're stabbed over and over and over again, deep cutting pain caused by memories forcing you into living the reality again as if it were happening right now.

All that is real is that moment in which I live today.

It's all I have left.

I exist. Period.

Meanwhile, Mr Forget-Me-Forever moves on with his plans. With a sense of shock, I realise we had been married but one year when already, he had to have been marking his territory, putting up boundaries, shutting doors through which I could not enter, but which before led, or so I believed, into his heart.

If he had died and I a widow, I would have retained those precious moments we shared. The hopes and dreams we had in the past would be intact, bound by the love so real, so much a valued part of our lives. He would live forever in my heart.

But one year of marriage on, once things had settled into routine, yes, I realise now, this is the pattern of his life. He cannot do 'settled'. It was my dream, never his. 'Settled' to him was complacent. 'Same old ... same old ...' he would say. He's a restless spirit. Never a one-woman man. All those tales he carefully shared in our beginnings of at least having left women before me with their homes intact. It was always their fault, mind, never his ... an affair here, an unthinking one there. But at the time of sharing it spoke of care and consideration on his part. Somehow he's good at twisting things around! Now it smacks of someone who can simply carry through a plan having found that 'woman on the side', and simply walk away. He never liked talking of the past. It was gone, done with, where was the point? In truth, he shook the dust off his feet ... and moved on.

Now I'd like to know these women he left behind.

I have become one with them.

Like the hands of the clock marking off moments in Time, the Law grinds slowly towards that point of finalising a divorce in a place I never wanted to be. The clock slows as solicitor's letters wait for his response. All in His Time! He retains Control ... or so He likes to think!! Meanwhile, life is snagged by the wishes, hopes, unfulfilled dreams that remain held in a kind of no-man's-land. He's moved on with his life. Already he has another home, another lady, someone else to spice his life ... until those moments when he starts to feel the urge, the itch he can't scratch, moving him to find something new, something different, something not tried before. And like the Hunter, he'll go searching among a jungle of unknown faces for who he believes is The One ... at least until next time.

Meanwhile, I'm stuck in time, held in that first moment I read his words on an email sent early morning, telling me he is no longer a part of my life. It's over. Finished. Done. He will not be returning Home. So many months before that, he knew it would come. He was already living the path he had chosen, a road turning away from my own, taking him further and further away from the things we knew and shared.

How can someone do that to another ... to a person they love ... and more, to their wife?

It begs the question, did he ever really love me at all?

Second-second-second-hand Rose sits in the bin while a finger hovers over the button marked 'Delete'. He has nothing to lose. His life has already moved on. He rises with another, surrounded by the trappings of the best money can buy to create a new nest. He leaves for work, returning that evening as if nothing has changed. A meal perhaps in a restaurant, an evening shared ... before bed. This isn't a young man. Each new encounter and subsequent shift in lifestyle means years are moving on, leaving their mark. How many more before The Reaper calls 'Time!'

I sit and ponder on these thoughts at the start of a new day. The silence folds around me. There is little if anything to lift my spirits ... apart from those cherished veterans who, each and every day, fill my world with echoes of their past set in World War Two, fighting a secret war, effectively jamming the enemy Radar with experimental equipment fitted into their aircraft. These seemingly 'forgotten heroes' of history are my lifeline. They know what it is like for life to hang in the balance.  Their words are inspirational, and like following a trail of breadcrumbs, I follow, hungry for more ...

... seeking with them 'the Unfound Door'.

WE Remember!

Sunday 10 January 2016


Hello World,

Have you ever had one of those moments when you feel you're not alone?

No, I'm not talking here about conspiracy theories or the Spirit World .. although there are plenty of those tales I could share. But have you ever lived a moment with a companion or partner, male or female it works both ways; and you're animatedly talking, sharing something you feel passionately about when ...

... a sharp ringing or catch-tune interrupts the moment.

You pause. Take a breath. It's happened too many times before for you not to know what follows.

It becomes a persistent buzz or hum, snagging your words, drawing the attention of the one you are speaking to away.

Despite the animated conversation, the mobile is picked up, looked at or placed to the ear. The focus shifts. You are dis-engaged. The moment is lost. Someone else is now right there with you both in the room, coming between you.

You too know that experience ... don't you?

It can happen any place, any time. You see it in restaurants and cafes where one partner sits gazing off into space, while the other is besotted with the phone, unable to simply switch it off, put it down, and give his companion the undivided attention they deserve and which would be welcome.

People lose the art of conversation.

They say children's thumbs are growing longer due to all the texting they do, and on reaching home after school, the house grows silent and still ... not because they are engrossed in homework, but because a machine has taken their attention away from their immediate surroundings, invading their home.

It becomes the uninvited guest.

Rules of etiquette fail to kick in. We become used to it. The distracting sound of a mobile becomes a part of everyday life. Like a crying baby to a mother, its needs to take priority.


On the other end of the phone someone is jostling for attention. They demand to be heard. A hand reaches towards the incessant sound, slides the bar, looks or listens, rapidly punches in keys, or puts the phone to an ear. A conversation is now taking place you are not privy to. Now you must wait until it is finished. Or else it can be that the mobile is put down after a cursory glance, with the words: 'Crap text'.

But is it?

How can you know?

How much do you actually trust the person you are with, especially when they interrupt a conversation or an activity shared, divert to read the message or take a call regardless of the fact you are there, air-brushing the moment you had between you?

That moment rarely comes again.

Another way it happens is when you're reading in bed. The hour is late. You're waiting for your partner/husband to join you. He's still working on his computer in the other room. Two hours on you step quietly across the landing. He sits staring at the screen. It's out of range for you to properly know what's going on ... but as you approach from behind, fingers tap keys, letters or images on the screen vanish as they are scrolled to the toolbar below.

'I'm coming .. I'm coming .. give me a moment!'

It's that moment again, this time tinged with a touch of frustration, impatience, as if you're somehow trespassing on his domain.

Again, you are no longer alone, just the two of you. Someone else is sharing your home, your time, your intimacy, invading your space, building a barrier between you. You can stand and wait, and he'll wait with you until finally you step back out of the room, back into the bedroom, into the bed, to wait some more.

Beginnings and endings. Endings and beginnings. Given time, trust takes a hammering ... and you begin to wonder. The more it happens, the more doubt creeps in. You can't help it. It happens, even before you realise it's actually happening to you. But then again, you tell yourself not to be so stupid. You begin to believe what he says, that you're paranoid. 'It's you ... you're reading too much into it.' After all, this is someone you love. Someone you love so much you have no secrets. You have given yourself to him, all of your self, everything you have to give and then some, holding nothing back, believing this is your 'happy-ever-after' and he's right there with you for the rest of your life.

But then, you forget ... this is your concept of Love.

It might not be his?

In a past moment, he slips in the phrase: 'Maybe you're not asking the right questions!' Again, you wonder. But then, what is it I'm supposed to ask? What is it I don't know? The phrase sends out signals which somehow trigger impulses in the brain. They niggle and wriggle at the back of what you share, how you manage your time together ... especially if he works away from home.

At the start of a New Year, I look back and know this is where it began.

For Me.

I have no idea exactly when it started, even how far back it goes. But this is the journey he put me on, and which I travel now. Where will it take me? I've no idea. All I do know is that he remains locked into my Present, as do I his; even though in reality he's not with me any more. His choice. The phone when it buzzed or rang when we were together didn't simply mean 'crap text'. It meant in truth an 'Uninvited Guest' really was there between us. He carried a vision of her with him when they weren't together, knowing she would make contact, expecting it to happen, ready to blot me out in an instant.

Now the situation is reversed ...

I have become the 'crap text', the call not answered, the email that sits waiting for 'the right time'. When she isn't expecting him home, or he's at work, or she's reading a book in bed waiting for him to join her; when she isn't around him and he has his moment alone to speak or text the words he might or might not say ... that 'right time' may come. Or not. I hardly hear from him any more. I'm just the 'dumped wife'. The Reject. Second-Hand Rose. Done with. Forgotten. Abandoned.

But I cannot be erased.

Our relationship happened. Check! We married. Check! We have unfinished business. Check! And I love him. Check! So I am now between them.

The Uninvited Guest.

Friday 1 January 2016


Since the publication of my book on 16 December 2015 by Austin Macauley, made up of the many voices of RAF 100 Group, it has generated worldwide interest, not least from veterans who served in this secret Group during WWII under Bomber Command. It is unique in sharing often for the first and only time, secrets of their work and lifestyle on Norfolk airfields.
   The first 100 copies are 'Collectables' - signed by the author, with two templates of 100 Group veteran signatures ready to be stuck on the inside cover of the book. There are also four insert pages of veteran signatures, with their rank, service and Squadron.

Veterans around the world put their signature to 100 pages to make these books 'Collectable' for the future. Each veteran remains just as passionate as I about finally claiming recognition for the role played in bringing the war to an early conclusion and saving so many thousands of lives. Following the war, this Group received no recognition, medal or reward.

'Collectable' versions of this book together with enclosures which make them so valuable and a legacy to pass down through the family, ensure these 'forgotten heroes' are remembered. The books are priced at £20.99 + pp, which in the UK is £5 ... a total of £25.99. Please contact me direct to make a purchase at:  

But be warned, these books are selling out fast. There are only these 100 copies which come with veteran signatures. Once they are gone it is an opportunity lost. There can never be more. Each veteran put his or her signature in person to these templates and sheets of paper which accompany these books, each veteran a kindred spirit, a valued part of a 'band of brothers' which made up RAF 100 Group. Sadly, some veterans died before the book was published, never having that chance to see their words in print, to know their voice would be heard by many in the wider world, and being able to spend special moments with their family in finally sharing the secrets of what it was they were actually involved in through the war. So many loved ones still have no idea about those secret operations today, including their wives and immediate family.

Hardback and softback copies without veteran signatures will continue to be available and can be ordered direct from the publisher, Austin Macauley, through Amazon and other online outlets, or by visiting High Street booksellers.

Meanwhile, comments and reviews from those already in receipt of this publication are positive, powerful, inspirational and moving, especially those from 100 Group veterans and their families in different parts of the world:


Hello Janine,
My hearty congratulations to you! Job well done!! Now the veterans, their families and the world have the opportunity to savor Kindred Spirits. Again, fond congratulations to you and your new 'baby'! You've carried a heavy weight for a very long time. Now you have a most beautiful new birth to celebrate. My hats off to you for your grand and most worthy efforts.
With my best regards,
Stephen Hutton

Stephen's father Iredell Hutton served in the 36th Bomb Squadron (the 8th Air Force's only Radar Counter Measures (RCM) Squadron) which flew in partnership with RAF 100 Group, carrying no bombs, but working with experimental and sophisticated equipment designed to identify and jam enemy Radar. Stephen has kindly written a chapter about its history and experience in my book. I remain indebted to you, Stephen, for your input.


Janine, finally the publication of this book is absolutely great news! I want to be among the first to congratulate the proud Mum!! A nervous and anxious wait, but very rewarding in the end. Well done, Janine! You have every right to feel proud and be emotional. I guess the whole project was like a pregnancy ... with that anxious wait at the end, but with a joyful 'birth', and the opportunity to hold your creation in your hands. I understand the relief and that warm satisfaction.
Stuart Borlase
Living History Film Productions


Oh Janine, what can I say? 'Kindred Spirits' is a WINNER!! It arrived here (New Zealand) a couple of days back and today I had time to sit in the car and start reading. I have devoured the first fifty pages so far and declare it is the best book, by far, I have read about Bomber Command, not just 100 Group. It is a phenomenal read and must enjoy the very widest circulation. How can we ensure this happens? Who writes the surveys and reviews? How are bookshops and libraries made aware of its existence? I am sure this will have to be a best seller! Don't forget that I am a critical reader and I know what sort of books attract readers. I was stunned by the size of the book, expecting a slim, paper-covered volume, not this all-embracing, marvellously researched record of a little known section of airborne Intelligence. Great stuff!

John xx
John Beeching
veteran of 169 Squadron, RAF Great Massingham, Norfolk. 


Janine, the book is absolutely PRECIOUS!! YOU HAVE IMMORTALIZED ME!!! Thank you and GOD BLESS YOU! I am thrilled!! What more can I say, except to see this at 4am I had to reply instantly. WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yours in your 100 Group MAGIC
Always your kindred Spirit
George and Marion 
Canadian veteran George Stewart DFC, served with 23 Squadron at RAF Little Snoring, Norfolk. On the cover of the book he can be seen sitting astride the nose of his aircraft, his Squadron below.


What a wonderful book! I have been scanning through it, an excellent reference source this is going to be for all. I had no idea of the sheer scale of the Project that you'd undertaken. You are to be congratulated for your determination and perseverance. Thank you for the signature plates (which make this book a Collectable). These I will very carefully install. As you said, this will make a very unique item to be treasured. Thank you again. You should be very pleased and proud of what you have achieved.

Best wishes,

PS I have sent emails to all my Mossie (Mosquito) contacts worldwide as well as forum telling them about this book and its availability.

Jan, the new book arrived today. What a lot of hard work! You put into it often twelve hours a day, and I can believe it. Over 500 pages in total! You amaze me how you can get so much information, then put it into a readable format. I found the part about my Uncle, and thank you for including it. Take care ...
Rod Vowler
RAF 100 Group Association Standard Bearer

I salute you, veterans of RAF 100 Group, and those who flew in partnership with them. This book was meant as a tribute to you all, as well as a Memorial to the many, such as my mother's wartime fiance; who did not return from war. I hope I have done justice to you, and brought your many voices out of the shadows and into the light where so many more people today, of all ages, can listen and learn from you.

Your message is clear ... there is nothing to be gained from war.

The world today needs to know how to live in peace, and become balanced, whole, One United Family just as RAF 100 Group Association stands as a living example today.

I would also add to this my thanks to all of you who helped, guided and supported me through last year, 2015. It was your many many messages, phone calls, daily emails, letters, gifts, flowers, and inspirational words which brought me through the awful aching lonely darkness to the dawn of a new day.

My RAF 100 Group Association Family