The Exile At Castle Rising

Fanny Cradock could never be accused of sitting still. By the time she exploded onto our TV screens in 1955 she'd already had more than a handful of other, diverse, careers. She even continued some of them, using different names for each one, while she baked soufflés and piped swan choux buns for us all. Primarily she wrote. She wrote newspaper columns. She wrote cookbooks. She wrote Children's books. She wrote travel pieces. She wrote nasty letters to people who referred to her as Fanny Craddock. It seems she wrote from the moment she woke up until she fell asleep again. If indeed she ever did sleep.

She wrote because she was good at it. She wrote because people wanted to read her words. She wrote because it earned her money. By the time the 1970s came along, she'd written nearly ninety books, thousands of weekly newspaper columns and so many nasty letters she'd no doubt worn out a whole factories worth of typewriters. She'd written so much, even she had lost count. Her first books were works of fiction, all penned with the usual Cradock charm but under pseudonyms. She claimed that her first novels were dictated to her from writers beyond the grave, so, according to her publicity, she would only earn a typists fee. Ever the marketeer. In the 70s she hit upon a scheme that was a little more lucrative. Tax evasion.

Most of her money was tied up in property, her television shows were becoming less frequent, with more demanding contract demands from her making Fanny Cradock more expensive and less appealing, and sadly the weekly part-work wasn't quite the money spinning retirement bundle she had hoped for. She'd long longed to return to her works of romantic fiction. Upon discovering that 'new' authors were eligible for tax-free earnings on 'new' writing for up to ten years in Ireland, she pretty much packed her bags and set up her typewriter in the Emerald Isle. The Castle Rising saga was born, or rather re-born as she already had the first few volumes furtively written. She'd never published fiction using the Fanny Cradock name before...

Capitalising on her celebrity, the series of books proved popular, but also became well-read in far flung places where no-one knew how to spell her name wrongly. The books were borrowed and bought the world over. Noses were buried into them, and impatient readers demanded the next, just as one was published. Fanny kept up regular appearances on TV chat shows, travelling to Europe for Nationwide and a series of society shindigs to keep up the illusion she was still 'around', risking a visit from the Tax-man every time she set foot on home soil. However her BBC file (which I was amused to discover was refereed to as The Fanny File) was clearly marked with the Top Secret information of where she was living. Essential for continued contact for work, and of course to send the cheques to.

The place was Doneraile in Southern Ireland. Her and Johnnie stayed there for a few years, before seeking alternative tax-free roots, writing or plotting the ten Castle Rising family saga instalments. There was a planned eleventh, which never made it. Perhaps her ten years ran out. Perhaps her loyal readership had enough. Perhaps the publishers had already torn all their hair out trying to put right the huge number of historical inaccuracies and impossibilities contained within the saga. Perhaps Fanny had found another way to make some money. I wonder if she loved her time 'incognito' in Ireland. I passed through the town where she lived the other day, having arranged to see the house. However, the woman who was helping me said 'Ah, if only you were here tomorrow...' despite that being the day I'd said all along. All part of the Irish charm. So, the mystery of where she lived remains, for now. I'll just need to go back. The town appears to pay homage to Fanny Cradock on it's welcome sign though. At least that's what she would think.