As many of you know I have now published two novels - some elements of which I have shared here. The plan is for there to be three eventually - third one written but not submitted yet.

However, in addition to that and in the process of writing I made copious notes about my characters, that I have been working on since early 2016. In fact concerning the story, that didn't even start coming together until early 2019.

I have decided to also publish these, and my original idea was as some kind of anthology, but i have since released one of the character sketches on KPD (Kindle Direct Publishing) and may follow with the other four.

My main character is Ania and concerning her character, this is how she is introduced - mundane and very normal (for Poland) until things take a darker turn which is the whole reason behind telling her story.

Anyway here is Ania -

Childhood recollections tend to capture vague moments and images rather than be complete; a present for Christmas or a special trip out or even a cuddle, but in my case my earliest memories are of mealtimes at home. I don’t know how old I was, but I’d already learnt how to eat with a spoon and mum and dad always sat me at the table and I did my best to steer my food into my mouth with a clumsy left hand. They indulged me and laughed when I dropped it on my top or into my lap and playfully wiped it away.

Sometimes they’d eat it and smile and I’d laugh.

One other thing that I remember about meals was that they always started with a prayer. Mama always insisted that we thank the Lord Jesus for our lives and the food he gave us. It was all a bit strange to me because I was sure it was Mama who prepared the food and not Jesus. At first these prayers were a very simple ‘Thank you Lord Jesus for our food, our family and our love,’ but as I got older and understood more the prayers became more elaborate and included some of our day-to-day concerns. Mama always asked me if I wanted to pray or for her to pray for something for her. This is a ritual that continues to this day and while I have long departed from that path, I respect her steadfastness in her faith.

Over all home was a happy place and I was loved and felt safe.

I don’t have any brothers or sisters so I was my parents’ world and they were mine. Play time was fun and mum was amazing. Somehow, she managed to play with me, clean the flat and keep me fed all at the same time. I don’t think I was a particularly demanding child. In my own mind I was quiet and obedient but I’m sure I had my moments – don’t all children?

My memory doesn’t go back far enough to remember having to deal with the word NO and start learning about boundaries.

Dad for his part was out working most of the time, but when he got home in the evening he’d lavish me with kisses and usually bathe me unless he was too tired. For him bath time was a time to bond with me and give mum a break after having me all day or later on after school and while I loved the time with him I didn’t really appreciate that it went beyond simply having dad time with me.

Sometimes though dad would fall asleep in his armchair with his dinner half eaten and mum would bath me. Dad would play as part of bath time while when mum was bathing me she’d soap and rinse me down efficiently and get me ready for bed. Bath time with mum was good, I’ve always enjoyed bathing and showering, but with dad it was great.

Outside of home, church was my first contact with other people but it was all very formal and to be honest boring, because people just seemed to stand around and there were priests droning on strange little bells being rung from time to time. I was at my most fractious in church.

Isn’t it odd that in a church of all places I was most rebellious?

But I loved Easter. The vigil and Way of the Cross on Friday was a bit confusing and boring, but on Easter Saturday in Poland we take a special basket to the church to be blessed. It is filled with representative items for our Easter breakfast and some of it is purely for its food value like sausage, some symbolic like salt and some that were just a bit strange like horseradish.

I’d walk in front of mum and dad carrying our special little basket with pride and as we got nearer the church other streams of children would join us with parents struggling to keep up. The priest always intoned a blessing over the baskets and sprayed water over them, most of which landed on us as he sanctified the food. Then we’d go home and mum and dad would tell me how proud they were of me.

Then on Sunday morning, we’d go to resurrection mass at 6am, but then we’d come home and have our great breakfast – as we call it in Poland. After Christmas Supper it was the most special meal of the whole year and it was all very festive.

And why shouldn’t it have been – Christ was alive!

I was a relatively solitary little girl, but Paweł a boy, two years older than me, from my neighbourhood and I soon became firm friends. I can’t even remember when I first met him, it was probably in the sandpit in the playground near our block where mothers and children tended to congregate.

I guess our mums got on so friendship between us only naturally followed.

He was a fun-loving tall blond boy with squinty eyes who just loved to run and run is what we did whenever we got out of our flats. It wasn’t just his legs that ran though. His voice did too. He was always excited about something, a new toy or some adventure he’d been on at the local store or even a dream he’d had which he always insisted on recounting in every detail.

The best thing about Paweł though was his laugh, which was loud and infectious and all too frequently we found ourselves laughing at absolutely nothing and when asked why we were at a complete loss to explain which in itself was hilarious.

When the weather was wet and cold I was often to be found in his flat playing games or vice versa.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out that our mums organised some kind of a rota because while I was quite undemanding, I am quite sure with his energy levels that Paweł was quite the opposite.

As we got just a bit older, we were allowed to venture a little further away but only together. Paweł took his responsibility over me very seriously and always watched me if we were near any cars or road. I felt safe with him and while nobody’s world is truly full of pink roses mine was as close as it could be.

When I started school it was a bit different though as Paweł hung out with the boys in his class, but whenever we saw each other he always had a cheeky little wink or a smile for me. Being eight it wasn’t cool to be too closely attached to a girl, and especially a younger one, and I kind of understood because in many ways it worked the opposite way round too.

Boys were dirty and disgusting, full of bad habits like picking their noses, fighting and scratching their scabbed knees so why would I want to be anywhere near them?

Of course, away from school, Paweł and I just carried on.