Thomas Gage

Here is the story of a fleshy, middle-aged man, an amateur artist, who is adored by women. He is sensitive to everything – the weather, colours, women’s clothes, hurtful remarks. He loves his children too fully and is negligent with money.
The period is 1850, the setting Norfolk, on England’s eastern seaboard. The railways are pushing into the countryside. Thomas detests them. Slowness and the old ways are what he loves.

It is his misfortune that the land his wife owns is the only ground suitable for miles around for bridging a river. This brings him into contact with the modern era in the form of Julius Gooby, the railway promoter. One thing leads to another…

Thomas Gage is my favourite. His plight would waken me at three or four in the morning. I really felt for this man. It’s a harrowing story. Readers can smell this and have kept away.

However, it gained for me the most heartfelt review I’ve ever had, for any of my books, from “A Customer”, via Amazon. I reproduce it here, in pride of place, as “A Customer” wrote it:

Gage is wonderous, more please Mr Fleming.
This is the best work of historical fiction I have ever read. One is immediately captivated by the daily life of Gage, Farmer, accomplished amateur artist and ex-soldier. All these elements combine into a tale of pathos and humour with one of the most starkly haunting scenes of a man’s extreme reactions to an incredible series of events ever put into print. If you are an aficionado or newcomer to historical fiction this is the book for you. I COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN. BRILLIANCE .BRILLIANCE.

Here is Thomas in Chapter One:

“The money was newly warm against his ribs. Swinging his cane, his feet turned out like a dancing-master, humming and hatless, he strolled down St Martin’s Lane and into Trafalgar Square. His hair, which seemed to burst out of his head and was the first thing anyone noticed about him, rippled in the summery breeze.

A woman of a comfortable age came walking towards him, a wicker basket on the crook of her arm. She drew level, and he made her a smiling bow, because he’d done what had been asked of him, the day was glorious and life his to command.

He’d been obstinate, had stood out for every last penny…Oh, it had been a game alright. Roberson had tried to make him feel like a provincial, ignorant and wormy. ‘Do what you like up there. Ninety days’ credit for London trade, plus the usual forgiveness,’ the man had said. ‘Sixty if you want to keep our business,’ he’d replied. He’d braced his calves and stiffened his jaw. ‘Sixty, as it always has been with our firm.’ Then he’d insisted he receive the debt in bank-notes and counted them twice, under Roberson’s nose, despite the fact that it was indecorous. And there they were, plumping out his London frock-coat, which had been cut three monarchs ago and was no longer easily buttoned…”

Cold Blood Reviews | White Blood Reviews | Thomas Gage Reviews | Temple of Optimism