I was driving home today, along a road I’ve driven along probably hundreds of times, in both directions. It’s the Bath Road, an old Roman Road, aka the A39, and runs along the Polden Hills.
The Polden Hills in Somerset, England are a long, low ridge, extending for 10 miles, and separated from the Mendip Hills, to which they are nearly parallel, by a marshy tract, known as the Somerset Levels.
The A39 is an A road in south west England. It runs south-west from Bath in Somerset through Wells, Glastonbury, Street and Bridgwater. It then follows the north coast of Somerset, Devon and Cornwall through Williton, Minehead, Porlock, Lynmouth, Barnstaple, Bideford, Stratton, Camelford, Wadebridge and St Columb Major. It then joins the route of the A30 road for around 5 miles, re-emerging near Zelah to head for the south Cornish coast via Truro and Falmouth.
Wikipedia
So driving along the ridge of the Poldens, it is possible to look north across lowland valley (once a swampy marshland) to the Mendip Hills to the North, and, through the trees to the south, across the south Somerset Levels. Its wooded now, but I wonder if back in the times of the Romans, if the Poldens were clear of trees?
However, as I drove west along the road today and looked north across the lowlands, unexpectedly a story began to form in my mind. I have mentioned here so often that most of my stories (if not all of them) are initially inspired by people – strangers seen, observed, maybe overheard, or characters or actors in film or on TV, situations and relationships I’ve read about or know of (I never write about those of people I know, I just imagine parallel fictional lives and relationships) The only time when a real place has been an inspiration which I have fictionalised is Rathlin Island off the coast of Ulster which has become my completely imaginary Farholm Island.
Suddenly from nowhere, this story began to crystallise, and even as I was thinking it, I was – well, I was surprised. What surprised me was that the idea was a setting I don’t think I’ve ever written about – a science fiction/dystopian/ post-apocalyptic story. The first few thoughts were of someone, a young woman probably, waking up somewhere among the trees on the Polden Hills, not knowing exactly where she is, what has happened and why she’s there. She’s unharmed, but somewhat scratched and bumped as if she had walked through the wood in the dark. She’s not hung-over, doesn’t think she’s been drugged, in fact she feels fine apart from being mystified about where she is and how she got there. She knows her name, but can’t properly recall other details of her life. There’s no sound of traffic, no sign of anyone about, she seems utterly alone. What has happened to her and what has happened to everyone else? Where does she go? What does she do? What’s her story? I have no idea!
Will I write this? Probably not – I have enough other things, more than enough other things to finish before anything new starts! I’ve written about it here, and here it will stay, just in case at some point I need inspiration for something new and very different!
Lois Elsden 