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Daily Mail
16-05-2025
- Climate
- Daily Mail
Water bosses are paid a fortune, but they've left us high and dry
You can't blame people up and down Scotland for basking in this sustained period of sunshine. After all, we're often used to digging out the big coat at this time of year, rather than putting on shorts. However, as a sheep farmer, I have a note of caution to those who want this weather to last indefinitely. Prolonged periods of warm weather are not very good for our farms and for crop production. Reading headlines in the middle of May, such as every part of Scotland facing water scarcity, is quite extraordinary. We are in our driest period in 60 years, so I get why Scottish Water have been left with no option but to urge people to conserve water. I understand the need for people to be responsible, even if my land and that of other farms across the country need a good soaking. But there's an issue with this messaging from Scottish Water, who let's not forget are an SNP-backed quango. And as revealed in yesterday's Scottish Daily Mail front page, we know how much these quangos waste public money. While they beg the public to save water, they are wasting the equivalent of close to 200 Olympic-size swimming pools of water every single day due to leaky pipes. Talk about a broken system. The lack of infrastructure to deal with unexpected spells of weather, good or bad, is clearly an issue that has been exposed by this dry spell. And what are bosses at Scottish Water suggesting we do? Take shorter showers and use buckets to collect water while washing, so that can be used to water plants. Let's get real for a second. Are any of the well-paid Scottish Water bosses going to be leading by example and following this advice? They have happily pocketed large salaries in recent years while people were hit by inflation-busting rises in their water bills this year. Surely with the money they are earning, they should not have allowed the water supply system to be broken to this extent. It's not only the supply system where the system is broken. Bosses have sat back as raw sewage continues to spill into our beautiful rivers and spoil our glorious beaches. This is at the heart of Scotland's quango problem. Not only are they squandering huge sums of money on an army of spin doctors, as my party revealed in this paper earlier this week, but we also have an army of top bosses who are being rewarded for failure after almost two decades of the SNP creating an ever-bloated state. Scottish Water cannot fix broken pipes or stop raw sewage from polluting our water, yet they still demand more and more from the public. If Scots are to be encouraged to follow this advice if the rain continues to stay away, then it needs to be an example of do as I do, not do as I say. The public will find the communication hypocritical when Scottish Water is losing over 450 million litres of water every day through leaks. If they can't manage their supply now, how prepared are they for future weather events like this or even for the summer months still to come this year? Scots are sick of being told what to do by well-paid bosses when they are already paying more in taxes only to get less in return. What is even more sickening is that the commission who oversee Scottish Water had their knuckles wrapped this week by the public audit committee, for a catalogue of failures that led to lavish spending at the taxpayers' expense that spiralled out of control. Scottish Water need to get their own house in order and while they are at it, what is their specific advice for struggling farmers right now? We want to do our bit too but we can't put our livelihoods at risk. Not when we're facing so many other challenges right now. So I'm sorry to say for the sake of my other role outwith politics, I'll be hoping that weather map shows some rain for Moray, and for the rest of Scotland's farms sometime soon.
Daily Mail
09-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Sipping afternoon cocktails at festivals, dinner with your literary heroes (and even a special swirly signature for book signings): What it's REALLY like to write a bestseller
One cool, rainy evening in June last year, I walked out of the Scottish Daily Mail newsroom for the very last time to the deafening sound of my colleagues banging on their desks. They weren't trying to hurry me out the door (or so I was later assured) but taking part in an old newspaper tradition which originated in the printing presses. A staff member, usually retiring, is 'banged out' as a mark of respect from their colleagues. I was hugely moved, and a little surprised. I wasn't retiring, after all, but leaving my job on a wing, a prayer, and a book deal with Hodder & Stoughton to write fiction. As the door swung shut on my 27-year career - and on my brilliant, supportive colleagues - I had a moment of sheer terror. What on earth did I think I was doing? Almost one year on, it's a question I've just about managed to answer. After nearly three decades as 'Emma Cowing, journalist', I am now 'Emma Cowing, novelist.' My debut novel, The Show Woman, was published 1 May, and in the time since I left the Mail I have completed my second novel, The Pleasure Palace, due for publication in Spring 2026. Where once I spent my days interviewing politicians and celebrities, attending daily news conference and penning columns for this newspaper, now I spend it at home at my desk, conjuring up fictional worlds. I write historical fiction (both books are set in the Edwardian era), which means that I am no longer immersed in the daily news agenda, alert to every breaking story, but instead spend hours flicking through the British Newspaper archive and old dusty tomes, researching days and lives gone by. And yes, every so often I get dressed up to attend glitzy publishing dinners with some of my favourite authors, but more on that later. So how did I end up forsaking a long career in the fast-paced world of daily newspapers for the life of a novelist? It all started back in the autumn of 2021 when my Mum and I were going through an old box of chocolates filled with family photographs, and one caught my eye. The woman in the sepia-toned image was wearing hoop earrings, an embroidered waistcoat and roped around her head, a headdress made of coins. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. 'Who is that?' I asked my Mum. 'Ah,' she replied. 'That's your great aunt Violet.' A trapeze artist and bareback horse rider who had performed with the famous Pinder's Circus when she was just 15 years old, Violet was the daughter of Scottish showpeople who lived in caravans and spent their winters at showgrounds in Glasgow. Talking to my Mum, who remembered the old family stories, I learnt that my great grandparents had run a travelling theatre that had criss-crossed the old fairground routes of Scotland between the 1880s and the 1910s, their seven children in tow. Fascinated, I started going through official documents on the Scotland People's website, rooting amongst birth, death and marriage certificates as well as Census records for clues to this intriguing and all but forgotten way of life. One soon emerged. When it came to the women in my family, under profession, they were nearly all described as 'showwoman.' It was a word I did not recognise. We all know what a showman is, and, of course, a showgirl. But a show woman? I did more research, learning that for the era, show women had a surprising amount of control over their lives. They ran shows, handled money and took over the rides if their husbands or fathers died, keeping the show, quite literally, on the road. A story started forming in my mind of four unusual women who come together in Edwardian Scotland to form the first all-female circus act. I tinkered with it for about 18 months on days off and weekends (like so many journalists, I had always wanted to write a book but rarely had the time to do so) until my hand was forced. I entered the first 5,000 words in a writing competition called The Cheshire Novel Prize, found myself longlisted, and was told I had two months to turn in the full manuscript if I made the shortlist. Only one problem: I didn't have a full manuscript. In fact I had less than 20,000 words. But I also had what I'd needed all along: a deadline. I bashed out the full book in eight weeks, was shortlisted, then longlisted for two other writing awards, all of which led me to my literary agent and, just six months later, a two-book deal with Hodder & Stoughton. It was the proverbial whirlwind, but one that also led me to a crossroads. I'd been a journalist since I was 19 and loved (almost) every moment of it. But writing a novel was something I'd wanted to do since I was a child, the idea of making it my job the stuff of fantasy. Now, here was my chance. At 46 years old, I could start a brand new career. Exciting, yes. A terrifying leap of faith, almost certainly. I've been lucky enough to have a fantastic publisher in Hodder & Stoughton and had more than a few 'pinch me' moments over the past year. Being ranked amongst Stylist's top ten debut novels by women for 2025. Getting a glowing review in Woman's Weekly (Woman's Weekly! My granny would have been thrilled). Some of my favourite authors, including Clare Leslie Hall, whose Broken Country has now spent two months on the New York Times bestseller list and was a Reese Witherspoon Bookclub pick for March, and bestselling author Jenny Colgan, who not so long ago I interviewed for this very paper, writing stunning endorsements for The Show Woman. Seeing my novel named on the Waterstones website under 'our best new fiction' alongside new work by authors such as John Boyne and Edward St Aubyn. Being reviewed in a newspaper I used to work for in glowing terms, by a reviewer I have long admired, their only criticism to ask why it had taken me so long to turn novelist. Why indeed? Then there was the day my publisher sent me the trailer (yes, books have trailers now) to The Show Woman, looking more like a Hollywood production than something I wrote at my kitchen table. Being listed alongside some of Hodder's more well-known authors including a certain Stephen King. Being involved in discussions over cover design and marketing and publicity (publishing a book is definitely a team effort, something I'd had no idea of until I was in the thick of it). Because you can't sign your book the same way you sign official documents for security reasons I even had to create an author signature, which made me feel giddily childish as I tried out my new swirly autograph ready for book signings. There's been a bit of glamour, too. Bookseller dinners with authors I adore, including one with the twice Booker-listed David Mitchell, author of Cloud Atlas, who was incredibly kind and encouraging, and a certain A-list TV presenter and author who gave me a huge hug and wished me all the luck in the world. I've discovered the world of book festivals and had a magical few days at Cheltenham Literature Festival last autumn meeting fellow 2025 debuts and drinking afternoon martinis, before making my own book festival debut last November in the beautiful town of Tring in Hertfordshire. I'm appearing at Wimbledon Book Festival later this year and am currently on a mini-book tour of the UK with dates in Manchester, Northumberland and Ayrshire in the diary. I've spent more time in bookshops over the past year than I have in my entire life, sheer bliss for a bookworm like me. Then there was my book launch, held at Waterstones Glasgow Sauchiehall Street, where friends, family and members of the public came along to drink wine and hear me talk about my book. Amongst them was my primary 2 school teacher, who gave me a hug, and told me how proud she was. Yes, I did cry. The honest truth though, is that I'm not sure I could have done any of it without those 27 years in newspapers. There are so many things I learnt in journalism that I have carried into novel writing. I'm still good at hitting deadlines, and write exceptionally fast. A lot of novelists talk about needing the muse to visit and creating the perfect environment before they can write a word - scented candles, complete silence, a week-long writing retreat in a cottage in the Cotswolds with roses round the door – but as someone who has filed stories from cars, cafes and frontline combat zones I can write pretty much anywhere, any time. Most importantly I treat novel writing like a job because, well, it is my job. I'm at my desk by 9.30am most mornings. I take an hour or so for lunch and finish up around 6.30pm. I write every day. So what do I miss about my old job? Well, fluffy as he is, the cat is not quite as good a conversationalist as my former colleagues. I miss being plugged into what's happening in the world in a way that I realise now is unique to newsrooms. The world has changed hugely in the year I've been away from the job. There's a Labour government at Westminster, Trump is back in the White House, and Alex Salmond is no longer with us. Stories I would once have immersed myself in have instead unfolded gently on the background as I doggedly research Edwardian era quirks such as the correct length of the grass on a croquet lawn (four inches) and how people in 1908 would drink their Pimm's (with ice and lemonade). But there are additional benefits too that, after 27 years of a full-on career in the newsroom, I can't deny I enjoy. There's no morning commute, eye constantly on the clock, wondering what the traffic's going to be like and if I'll get a decent parking space. In fact one of my favourite things about my new life is waking up early, making myself a cup of tea and reading for an hour. They say all the greatest writers are big readers, so I can almost convince myself it's work. But so far, the most magical moments have come from readers. Ones who have contacted me to tell me how much they loved the book, or that it made them cry, or laugh, reminded them of their own family history, or prompted them to research their own. And in that way, it's still a little like working for the Mail. When I was on this paper one of my favourite parts of the job was hearing from readers. Many had thoughts about my column, some wanted to know my opinions on certain subjects. Some even agreed with me. Because when it comes down to it, that's the most important part about writing, whether it's for a newspaper, or a novel: the readers. The Show Woman by Emma Cowing, published by Hodder & Stoughton, £16.99.
Daily Mail
05-05-2025
- General
- Daily Mail
A day of joy... and tears for the fallen - Scotland's WWII heroes relive the moment they knew victory was won
It was the day when peace broke out across Europe, when a war-weary country threw off the shackles of fear on their great day of redemption. As King George VI took to the airwaves on May 8, 1945, to declare Victory in Europe, his electrifying words sparked happy bedlam across the streets of Britain as people burst into spontaneous sing-songs and partied long into the night knowing the dark shadow of Nazism was lifted. Yet, while those back home danced in fountains with newfound abandon, many on the frontline barely had time for a beer. Others preferred the solace of a quiet corner to contemplate the loss of comrades as they braced for the prospect of a final, gruelling push in the Far East against a defiant Japan. Now, as the 80th anniversary of VE Day approaches and we prepare to remember all those who made the ultimate sacrifice so we could live as free people in a world of free nations, the Scottish Daily Mail delves into the memories of that now-dwindling wartime generation to present some deeply personal reflections on that momentous day of days. THE SIGNALMAN JOHN Mitchell, of the Royal Signals, recalls the moment he learned the war in Europe was over: 'I was out in a small wireless truck with three men somewhere in Germany. I don't remember where exactly,' said Mr Mitchell, of Darvel, Ayrshire, who is now 100. 'We were sent to places where they needed communications set up and we were doing our job when we turned on the radio and listened as they reported Hitler's death and the end of war in Europe. And that was it.' He found himself in a strange limbo: 'At the time, the day didn't really mean anything to us. We were too far away from barracks or anywhere you could congregate as a unit. And you were not allowed to fraternise with the Germans, so we couldn't have gone into a pub even if there had been one nearby.' For Mr Mitchell, who took part in the D-Day landings in June 1944, there was at least relief at the news. Like many who took part in Operation Overlord, he has done his best over the intervening decades to 'eradicate' some of the worst memories of the conflict from his mind. After landing on Juno Beach on the night of D-Day plus one, he became separated from the rest of his unit and after being ordered to wait until morning before advancing, he witnessed a truck being blown up by a mine. 'The Canadian driver drove forward a couple of yards and hit a mine. The truck was destroyed. There are some incidents that you do not forget,' he said. 'There was a certain amount of relief that the war was done.' Soon posted back home, he felt detached from the holiday mood in the country: 'We were being kitted out for a tour of duty in Burma until they dropped the Atom bomb on Japan.' Astonishingly, although hostilities were at an end, his unit's commanding officers took them out on parade and read them the Riot Act. 'Although there was no discontent, I think they were afraid people were keen to go home right away to see loved ones and they needed to keep us in our place,' he said. Mr Mitchell, who remained in the Army until 1947 and later received the French Legion D'Honneur, will be at a VE Day garden party in Darvel, near his home in Ayrshire. Earlier in the week, he will be among guests at the VE Day 80 reception and concert in honour of veterans at the Usher Hall in Edinburgh. He said: 'There are so few veterans left now. It is a time for us to look back and remember our friends.' THE MUNITIONS FACTORY GIRL NANCY Bennett was a month shy of her 15th birthday when war broke out across Europe on September 1, 1939. Born Nancy McBride, she grew up far from the frontline with four sisters at her parents' farm at Overton Cottage near Dreghorn in Ayrshire. Yet even here the threat of attack by enemy forces was ever-present. She remembers soldiers billeted near the farm, and her father donning his special constable's hat during air raids and the deadly drone of Luftwaffe planes flying overhead. In 1942, 18-year-old Nancy went to work as a secretary at ICI's heavily guarded Ardeer munitions factory near the Ayrshire coastal town of Irvine. The UK's first dynamite factory, its 2,000-acre site had grown during wartime to become the largest manufacturer of explosives in the world, employing 13,000 workers at its peak. Security was tight with perimeter guards, barrage balloons and sea defences: 'You had to go through a police gate and if you had matches or a lighter or anything flammable, they had to be handed in,' said Mrs Bennett, now aged 100. A stray spark from a cigarette would have been disastrous, but other dangers lurked in the skies above. 'The Germans attempted to bomb it. Once they dropped three bombs, but all three missed their target – otherwise, there would have been a lot blown up,' she said. When VE Day was announced, Nancy's family were on holiday at Lamlash on Arran: 'We heard it on the radio news. And the Navy had some ships in the bay and I remember the cacophony of their hooters going off in celebration and the sailors came ashore and we celebrated with them as they had a dance and drink. They were glad to come ashore for a while.' Such joyful memories are tinged with sadness. 'It made me think of my schoolfriends from Kilmarnock Academy who went off to war and never came home', she said. In June 1949, she married former merchant seaman Jack Bennett, whose family ran a licensed grocers in Irvine. 'Jack was in the thick of the war. On one occasion, his ship was next to another one that was blown up,' she said. 'Another time, he had to swim between two ships during a blackout when they needed supplies, but nobody warned the gunners on the other ship that he was coming so they started shooting at him and he had to dive underwater to avoid the bullets from his own side.' In 1961, the couple moved into the house in Irvine where Mrs Bennett still lives and where they raised their two daughters, Kay and Isabelle. This year, she said she will observe VE Day 'quietly at home' with her memories and 'no fuss'. THE BOMBER PILOT HAVING flown on some of the most hair-raising bombing raids across wartime Europe, RAF pilot Harry Richardson was 5,000 miles away on active service in India while Britain – including his wife – celebrated VE Day. For Captain Richardson and the rest of 159 Squadron, however, there was only brief respite from their mission fighting the Japanese by destroying ports and transport lines in south-east Asia in their Liberator-class bombers. 'We had a few pints in the mess when the news came through on the radio – probably more than a few actually. Even the commanding officers joined in – after all, they were still normal guys,' said Mr Richardson, now a remarkable 107 years old. 'It was quite a relief, but we still had a job to do, although we thought once Europe was finished the rest would follow pretty quickly.' Among those carried away by the national euphoria was his wife, Margaret, who travelled to central London from the family home in Wembley to party in Trafalgar Square. She was accompanied by Mr Richardson's two brothers, Stan and Ken, who had recently been repatriated from German PoW camps. 'My wife told me later she had a lovely time with my two brothers,' laughed Mr Richardson. Now one of the last surviving Second World War bomber pilots, Mr Richardson completed 62 dangerous wartime missions when he was expected to carry out only 30. His record is all the more impressive considering the grim 46 per cent death rate among aircrew in Bomber Command. In one close shave in 1942, he cheated death when he and his six crew came under heavy fire from German anti-aircraft guns while flying over the Hague at 8,000ft. He escaped by corkscrewing down to just a few feet above the rooftops to fly under the searchlights 'all the while keeping an eye out for steeples'. Their ordeal continued when a flak ship opened up as they reached the North Sea. 'One shell exploded inside our cabin, putting holes through the navigator's seat, table and one of his maps, and through the hydraulic tank, which we sealed with chewing gum. We lost a door but we landed safely,' he said. Mr Richardson left the RAF with the rank of Flight Lieutenant and a chest full of medals for outstanding bravery, including the Distinguished Flying Cross, before going on to a long career as an air traffic controller at Prestwick airport. On Thursday, Mr Richardson will travel to London from his home in Ochiltree, Ayrshire, as a VIP guest at the VE Day 80 commemorations at Westminster Abbey and the concert televised live from Horse Guards Parade. 'This year's celebrations feel special. There's so few of us left and I want to remember the other lads, the ones who can't be there.' THE RAF HAIRDRESSER RENEE MacLean joined the RAF in 1942 as soon as women were allowed to enlist. She wanted to be a driver, but when the force found out she was a qualified hairdresser, she was ordered to pick up her scissors and cut and style the new intake of female recruits. 'I was annoyed because I liked the idea of driving the officers around,' said Mrs MacLean, 103. Posted to Jerusalem, she found that even a humble hairdresser could not escape the horror of war. 'One of my officers was a very wealthy American whose husband had returned from three years in Burma. So I did her hair and she always give me half a crown, which was a lot of money in those days,' she said. 'She used to joke that she'd adopt me and I would go back home with her.' That day, the American's husband came to pick her up in a taxi and as she left 'she waved to me and smiled'. That weekend, Mrs MacLean was serving as duty corporal in the guardroom when two policemen arrived with grave news. 'They said the American couple had gone to church on the Sunday morning and the building had suffered a direct hit and they were both killed,' she said. 'They told me I needed to come and identify her. 'I had never seen a dead body in my life, but I went and the sheet comes off and I said, 'Yes, that's her'. It was very sad.' Originally from Cardigan in Wales, she had already met her future husband, Neil MacLean, from Glasgow, who served with 603 (City of Edinburgh) Squadron, and was an uncle of comedian Sir Billy Connolly. 'I've met Billy a few times, although I must say he never made me laugh,' said Mrs MacLean firmly. VE Day was already two days old by the time the news filtered through to Jerusalem: 'So, we were still working away when somebody said, 'The war's finished', and I said, 'Does that mean we don't have to do guard duty any more?'' Rather than undiluted joy, there was only muted relief. 'People could see the war was still going on in Japan and we were more worried about that than what was happening in Europe,' she said. 'A lot of the men thought they would have to go to Japan rather than be demobbed. But by the time they were trained up and due to ship out to southeast Asia, it was all over. The bomb had gone off and Japan surrendered.' After the MacLeans married they settled in Glasgow, in the same home where Mrs MacLean still lives, and had two sons – both of whom became Wing Commanders in the RAF – and a daughter. Mrs MacLean, who expects to attend the VE Day 80 Service of Thanksgiving at Glasgow Cathedral on Thursday, said: 'We may not have celebrated much then, but it is important not to forget.' THE NAVY VETERAN A YEAR before VE Day, Albert Lamond was a fresh-faced 18-year-old Naval signalman on board the frigate HMS Rowley as the battle for the Normandy beaches raged about him on June 6, 1944. The horrors that he witnessed have lived with him ever since. 'D-Day is very difficult to talk about,' he said. 'We could see all the men trying to get ashore, not knowing what was waiting for them. All we could do was watch, hoping to defend as many of them as we possibly could. We understood the importance of what we were doing and why we had to do it. But it didn't make it any better.' A veteran of Atlantic sea battles and the Arctic convoys, by May 1945 Mr Lamond had already been despatched to the South Pacific on HMS Bonaventure and was fighting the Japanese forces when VE Day was declared. His nephew Martin Lamond said his uncle, who is now 99 and in poor health, was unable to dwell on news of the Nazi capitulation. 'He was mainly involved in precarious close-quarter sabotage of enemy ships. VE day, although welcome news for the crew, wasn't something they got time to celebrate on board,' he said. 'In fact, it brought Albert potentially even greater danger than the enormous danger he had already faced in Europe.' Due to the Japanese refusal to surrender, Mr Lamond's ship was dispatched to invade Japan within the American Sixth Fleet – the only British vessel to take part in this mission. 'The first atomic bomb, however, allowed the fleet to turn back before they reached Japanese waters. VJ day therefore has more resonance with Albert than VE day does,' said his nephew. Even then, Albert Lamond's work was not finished as his ship was used to evacuate people from territories occupied by Japan. Awarded many medals for his service, Mr Lamond, who married his late wife Margaret in 1950, left the Navy and spent 40 years as a train driver. He now lives at the Erskine Home, set within Erskine's Veterans' Village in Renfrewshire, which is hosting a street party on Thursday. Mr Lamond, who hopes to attend, said recently: 'It's vital we teach future generations the true cost of freedom and ensure they never forget the horrors we faced. It's our duty to keep the past alive, so history does not repeat its darkest days.'
