FROM RICHES TO RICHES(with very little money involved) by Roy Bradshaw (a skeletal autobiography and some...)

Introduction

A question to myself: What one thing has held you back mostly in life?

Answer: Verbal communication.

I am a nobody. I have no salubrious celebrity, no airs and graces, no status due to exceptional talent or any connections in places other than at my own level. I am not a movie star, rock star, TV personality nor am I dripping with money made by being a business tycoon. All through my life – and even now, I struggle, struggle, struggle with verbal communication… especially if it’s with a person I like. Pseudo rigor-mortise sets in, my tongue ties itself into two tight knots and a double bow, my mouth dries to a desert – then, to top it all, my mind goes completely blank!

If you could go back to my schools and tell each teacher that I have been reasonably successful in automotive engineering and often reached the heights of Senior Engineer, the answers you would get would be something like: No! Impossible! That must be a different man! It can’t possibly be him! He’d never have that sort of confidence! You get the drift, I’m sure.

If you told them that I had also qualified as a Secondary School teacher, then went on to work both in Secondary and Primary schools as a teacher, most of them would fall over – some with laughter and others with shock. The exception, possibly, would be my old Secondary Woodwork, Metalwork and Technical Drawing teacher (now known simply as DT), and even his eyes would probably widen.

Then, if you told them that I was also a published author of children’s books, you would need to arrange some funerals or places in institutions for the insane, because that would blow their tops… incomprehensible! All of these things I have achieved. Not great in the mix of the normal world, but for me it’s quite astonishing.

Because I have nothing great to offer you like name dropping of film or sports stars, or rubbing shoulders with Royalty, a manic lifestyle or anything juicy like that, I need to offer you something a bit different to a normal autobiography, and I do so want to entertain you. With this in mind I have chosen a particular format, which I will tell you about right now, so if you feel like closing the book and read no more about a nobody, please at least scan my format. There are several parts to it…

At the time of writing, I am living my sixty-fifth year. So, the first part of my format is to attempt to write a short chapter with something of some interest for each of my living years – that’s sixty-four chapters. Some things will be funny and may make you laugh, others will be less so. Some of the chapters will be as thin as the paper they are written on, because either I can’t remember much about that year, (0 to 1 years automatically springs to mind), or nothing much happened in that year. If this happens, I will attempt to tell you about something I was told about the period by a family member or friend.

The next part of my format is poetry. I have written much dilettante poetry and often squeeze some into the prose of my published work (and unpublished manuscripts). I will attempt to create some new poetry and use existing ones already written to compliment each chapter – sometimes I’ll just drop in a random poem or a joke that has no bearing whatsoever on that particular chapter.

I will also throw in the odd excerpt, blurb, prologue, preface or illustration of a story I have written, just to give you a flavour of my stories.

The final part of my format is the present. At the end of each chapter I will give you a sentence or two about what’s going on in my life as I write (2023). An uphill task I fear will take up a lot of my time, but anyway here goes. So, goodbye to those of you that have decided to read no further and thank you very much for reading this far.

Chapter 1. Beginning of 1959 to Beginning of 1960

At the beginning of 1959, Mother Nature, or biology, had probably just about decided that I was going to be a boy. Inside of my mother’s womb, I would have existed for around three months. In the middle of the year when I entered the world, my poopy was still yellow and thus I can’t remember anything about this birth happening thingy. I can recall a few things that were told to me later on in life.

I was born on the 11th June 1959 and delivered onto the living room carpet of number 122, Alexandra Road, The Little Burton Estate, Tipton, in the heart of The Black Country, UK – so called by Queen Victoria as she rode through it on a train. She commented that everyone was black and was informed that that was because of the heavy and grimy industrial work in the area.

The midwife who oversaw my birth was our next door neighbour called Mrs Watson and she became a second mother to me. She’d also overseen the birth, and death, of my older brother who was called George. They (my mom and Mrs Watson), struggled to, but failed to get George to breathe. This is a burden carried by me for most of my life. Although no-one has ever said it, I have felt for all that time that somehow, I was his replacement. Here is my first poem in this work which I wrote for him:

George

(A Brother No-One Ever Knew)

by Roy Bradshaw © 2020

I never knew him, and guess I never will

Sweet sugar for me. For him, a bitter pill

Replace and replenish inside thoughts remain

Mindful he’s there… and George was his name

He lived for a little while, or so I am told

On the front room carpet, Alexandra Road

Next door was the midwife, tried so hard in vain

To get him to breathe… and George was his name

As a tot, my mother once showed me his grave

Smaller than me, over-grown and without any pave

Glistened tear in her eye, a ghost of self-blame

So dearly missed by her… and George was his name

Alive with remembrance for a poor substitute

Of a boy of no picture, but chubby and cute

His identity stolen without any shame

My older brother… and George was his name

Monday, 15th May 2023. Today I worked on a manuscript for the younger generation (KS1, four – six years old). For now, it is called Konk the White Crocodile and His Very Long Snout, but I haven’t decided the final title. I hope it will complement my lower and upper KS2 children’s stories already published. I have sent a draft to my publisher and illustrator for their comments and feedback. Here is the opening to the story in manuscript form:

Konk the White Crocodile and His Very Long Snout (Excerpt)

Pg. 1

Konk, the white crocodile had a very long snout and lived in a special place called the River Rye, where the water was clear, cold and magical. The other crocodiles in the river all had short snouts and were either green or brown or yellow or a mixture of all of those colours.

(Illustration 1. Showing a long white crocodile with a very long snout looking sadly at his reflection in clear blue river water.)

Every time he got out of the river, Konk saw his white reflection in the water and he didn’t like the way he looked. He thought all the other crocodiles didn’t like the way he looked either… and that saddened him.

Pg. 2 – Photocopiable A4 size sketch of illustration 1.

Pg. 3

‘Hello Konk.’ A young crocodile called Alena said to him as he crawled out of the river one day. Konk looked at her and then again at his own white reflection. Alena’s skin was as yellow as a buttercup with black stripes running down her back and some brown spots on her belly.

(Illustration 2. Showing a smaller yellow crocodile with black stripes and brown spots talking to white Konk.)

Work Experience

Today, I have agreed to carry out a couple of hour work experience session in March 2025 for two secondary school students eager to pursue a career in writing. I will talk with them go through a pre-prepared workshop of how to prepare manuscripts, then go through the journey of publishing and Sales and Marketing. I will also carry out a critique of a piece of their work previously sent to me via their careers department. The session will be held in the students school. We are all excited about it, I am eager to meet the students and wish them all the best for their futures in writing. I also worked at the school in the past and look forward to meeting up with some old colleagues. (If there are any left!)

Author School Visit Competition Oct 2024

CONGRATULATIONS to Windmill Primary School who won the competition set in October. I will be contacting them soon to organise a date.

Severn Hospice Christmas Event

A fabulous weekend helping people fill their Christmas stockings with some of my lovely stories and a very worthy cause to support.

School Workshops

I am pleased to announce three new bookings for primary school workshops in the new year:

Wrockwardine Wood Primary.

Teagues Bridge Primary.

Weston Rhyn Primary.

Others are in negotiation. To book your school either contact me on email roy.bradshaw456@outlook.com or though the contact form of this website.

Latest Manuscript: Sam Spiralli the Seriously Nutty Squirrel

Here’s the Blurb:

Sam enjoyed a peaceful life not having to think too much (thinking was something he found rather difficult to do). That was until ‘his’ old oak tree was invaded by a bunch of rebel squirrels intent on robbing him of ‘his’ acorns. And that’s what made him angry. And that’s what forced him to plan ways of getting rid of them. And that’s why some of his friends got involved. And that’s where the problems started…

School Library Opening

1st October 2024.

I was privileged to open Sheriffhales Primary School brand new library on 1st October. This I followed with a whole school assembly where I told my first Barley’s Biscuit story called Pattern’s Rock Quarry set on Benthall Edge, one of Shropshire’s many beauty spots.

The Orange Dragons

The Beginning:

Grand-daddy Royston rocked and he rolled and he tumbled over and over, firstly to his left, then to his right as he fell into the under-water darkness of the small pond not very far from the house where he lived. It felt to him like he was inside a washing machine, but one with a huge difference. This one had flashing orange lights – bright lights at that – and they pierced his eyes from outside through the wall of the glass bubble he was inside. The flashes were so intense and fast, they turned his eyes from a rapid blink into almost completely closed ones.

He fell face down onto the bottom of the glass bubble then managed to lift himself a short distance up onto his elbow’s. For a split second only, he saw two other glass bubbles far to his left, disappear into the mud at the bottom of the pond. His heart sank. Teddy, his grandson and Busy-Bea, their new friend inside those two glass bubbles had gone – he knew not where, or whether he would ever see them again. He felt a very short vibration in one of his pockets. He felt inside – nothing, except an image of Mr. B, Teddy’s school teacher, appeared in his mind.

The glass washing machine started up again, it rocked Grand-daddy Royston this way and that. Now, there were many more orange lights surrounding his bubble - in fact the whole outside of his protective globe shone bright orange. Then, a small dot appeared in amongst the mass of orange and grew. The dot was soon joined by another one. Together the pale green dots not only grew larger, but the hue of their green colour intensified. The dots stared at Grand-daddy Royston like a pair of alien eyes, and followed his every movement until his glass bubble came to an abrupt stop, then the eyes disappeared.

Grand-daddy Royston was no bigger than the head of a pin. He’d been shrunk down in size by Busy-Bea’s magical powers so that he, and his grandson Teddy, could go off on an exciting adventure to the Land-of-Santamonious, the home of a colony of friendly bees and help break a curse holding them tight to a colony of nasty creatures called dragasps, and their home called the Land-of-Nowhere. Now though, cast off from Teddy and Busy-Bea by some bright orange and black creatures, he wouldn’t get to go on the exciting adventure – or even to know how it worked out, so he thought at the time.

Exclusive PR from Family Grapevine magazine!

Bee-Hive Yourself and Keep the Environment Clean!

Mr B’s Busy-Bea (The Bee Bea Sea), is the latest children’s book released by author Roy Bradshaw from Madeley in Telford. It is the second in his series of Mr. B’s Busy-Bea books and his eighth children’s book – this one has a subtle yet powerful environmental message.

Roy, with teaching experience in the secondary and primary sector and a former engineer in industry where amongst other things he wrote manuals for environmental standards, was initially inspired to pen the story by the quantity of plastic micro-particles in our seas rising at an alarming rate.

“Add this to the fact that fish are eating the plastic micro-particles, thinking them as food, then this leaves a worrying prospect for the future health of our seas.” Roy said.

Alongside Roy’s other releases: Konk the White Crocodile, Marti-Rye the Mole, Mr B’s Busy-Bea (The Ritzzz Hotel) and four Barley’s Biscuit stories, Mr. B’s Busy-Bea (The Bee Bea Sea) is available now through his website: www.roybradshaw.co.uk

They can also be purchased through Amazon, all good books stores including Waterstones, Gardners, Peters and Askews & Holts amongst others.

“I always want my writing to contain a strain of reality and education whilst entertaining at the same time.” Roy says.

“My super-hero (Busy-Bea) in the bee world is willing to take on any task regardless of its enormity.

“An explosion of bee parasites form a formidable and deadly enemy for most bee colonies around the world – they have designed a method of mass destruction and joined forces with plastic micro-particles in the seas to rid the world of bees and take their place.

“Mr B, back in his year three classroom, ponders this threat and morphs it with his teaching theme for the term – ‘The Environment.’ A plan to tackle both problems together drifts into his mind and he knows just the three students who can help!” Roy added.

Mr. B’s Busy-Bea (The Bee Bea Sea) has been fabulously illustrated by Lisa Williams, published through Media & You and is intended to appeal to young readers between 7 and 9 years. The title compliments Roy’s seven books already published: Barley’s Biscuit: Pattern’s Rock Quarry, A Paddle and the Golden Glow, Pipit’s Perilous Plight and Ghostly Whispers on Wenlock Edge. Mr. B’s Busy-Bea: The Ritzzz Hotel, Marti-Rye the Mole Has a Shiny Week and Konk the White Crocodile. They all remain popular.

“There are many other stories in the Barley’s Biscuit series I want to publish and several more Busy-Bea’s in my bonnet – four manuscripts are already written.” Roy added.

“Each of the releases are very different types of adventure stories. Barley’s Biscuit are problem solving type books, Mr. B’s Busy-Bea focuses on the battle between the good and bad guys and Marti-Rye is just a cheeky chappie with an obsession for collecting shiny things. Konk is an activities and story book out of which some pages can be freely copied for colouring-in, 2D and 3D model making.”

Roy is available for schools, libraries and other establishments for workshops, including reading/writing and 2D/3D model making, utilising any of his books and would be delighted to hear from anyone interested in arranging those – again this can be arranged easily through his website or by phone. He is also available for events interested in book signings or meet the author – or even local Arts and Craft fayres.

Any of Roy’s books can be ordered easily by visiting his website https://www.roybradshaw.co.uk and are available through some outlets local to Madeley. Mr B’s Busy-Bea (The Bee Bea Sea) retails at £8.99. Anyone can get in touch via email at roy.bradshaw456@outlook.com or call him directly on his mobile number 07874 706780.

Sam Spiralli, The Seriously Nutty Squirrel

“Never look back in anger!” Sam Spiralli, the seriously nutty squirrel uttered inside his mind. He then hollered at the top of his voice to no-one in particular: “If the nut’s gone – it’s gone.” In fact, his shout was so loud that all the squirrels living in other parts of ‘his’ oak tree snapped their heads around to his direction, frowned gravely and started chattering to each other, sniggering and tutting shortly afterwards. “I’m going to get that lot.” He thought. “This is my tree.”

“Get lost.” He shouted.

“You already have.” One squirrel shouted back.

“Inside your head anyway.” Another added. Their laughter flew through the air like a flock of starlings ringing and fluttering annoyingly in Sam’s ears. Sam tightened his lips together, pursed them in an angry, frustrated show – then slammed his paws onto his ears and darted back into his drey thinking, “how… how… how?”

Sam’s drey, a natural hollow in a fork of ‘his’ hundreds-of-years-old oak tree standing quite alone in the middle of a small copse of other trees and bushes, was beautifully lined with small twigs and had a luxurious soft lining of moss, leaves, grass and fur, creating a cosy retreat after a hard day at work burying acorns. He rolled into a ball and tried not to think of the ‘scoundrels’ currently living in ‘his’ oak tree, pinching ‘his’ acorns for themselves. “These newcomers just don’t belong here and need to find their own tree.” Sam closed his eyes to think hard about a plan to get rid of his unwanted guests – the task proved to be rather difficult and he simply went to sleep.

Sam woke the next morning in exactly the same position he went to sleep in. The only differences were that he had a bright red forehead from when he’d had an idea in his sleep of how to get rid of the pests occupying ‘his’ tree – and had slapped it hard to try and keep the idea in his head ready for the morning. That hadn’t worked and only resulted in the other difference which was a thumping great headache. The sun burst in through the opening of his drey. “Time for work and to collect breakfast.” He thought and sprung out of his drey.

Sam picked a couple of newly ripened acorns and set off to replace them with older ones he’d buried some months earlier. The older ones would be his breakfast. He darted this way and that through the undergrowth on the floor of the copse, turning his head every couple of seconds to make sure no-one was following him. He arrived at one of his buried stock of acorns and dug down rapidly under the leaves and loose soil.

After a long while (much too long, he thought), he had not reached his stash – it was gone! The only thing left was a faint scent of another squirrel. Sam put his new acorns back into the hole, covered it over and closed his fists together tightly. “The thieving little… squirrels.” he said rather quietly to himself, clenching his teeth together and fuming with anger. “I’m going to sort them good and proper – just you wait and see.”

Illustration 1 showing Sam with clenched fists and teeth, fuming by a small mound of soil and leaves. A big oak tree in the background.

Tommy the toad was much larger than the average toad and lived at the side of a pond not too far from Sam’s large oak tree. If he was a tortoise he would live in the Galapagos islands, such was his huge size. He was a friendly toad – a gentle giant many of his friends often said, and every-one – I mean every-one, called him by his nickname which was ‘Whopper Hopper.’ Tommy could easily leap from one side of a road to the other in one go.

It took a lot of oppression to even slightly upset Whopper Hopper – and to get him angry took so much effort that others often frustratingly gave up, or didn’t even try in the first place, such was his resilience. On the day that Sam discovered he’d been robbed of his precious acorns again, then discovered that the scent left by one of the pesky interlopers was not just a scent, he’d whacked the ground so hard that the ‘scent’ had gone flying through the air like a ground to air missile – just as Whopper Hopper, out for his morning stroll, took a leap just for the fun of it.

And yes, the flying ‘scent’ got Whopper Hopper straight in the snout turning his leap ‘just for fun’ into something quite different – especially when he instinctively wiped his snout with the bottom of his feet half way through his leap… that made things much worse. Sam watched all of this happen rooted to the spot waiting for Whopper Hopper to land. Sam’s mind, when it comes to thinking (especially of ideas), is probably about as sharp as a peeled banana. This was the main reason keeping him rooted to the spot – fear of what Whopper Hopper would do to him being the other.

Of course, when Whopper Hopper did land, he no longer had the grip he usually does and went skidding onto his backside (and into the remainder of the ‘scent’), bouncing and shouting angry little snorts each time his tender skin contacted with a sharp stone, or rough tree root sticking out of the ground. Sam covered his eyes, grimaced then opened his fingers just in time to see Whopper Hopper come to a head-first abrupt stop courtesy of the trunk of ‘his’ oak tree. Two things instinctively hit Sam’s mind at the same time – he chose the latter.

“Sorry… sorry… sorry, Whopper Hopper!” Although, as soon as he saw the anger on Whopper Hopper’s face, he instantly regretted choosing the apologetic route, it was too late now to use the ‘it wasn’t me’ route. Sam raised both of his arms in surrender and walked slowly towards his one-time friend. Whopper Hopper stood up curling his nose high in the air when the stink from his skin hit his nostrils. An unripe, hard acorn dropped from the tree and struck Whopper Hopper between his eyes – he wasn’t at all happy and the snarl he aimed at Sam proved it.

Whopper Hopper’s snarling face turned quickly into a questioning one, then into a reasoning one, as he heard sniggering and chuckles from a bunch of squirrels high up in the tree. Another hard acorn sped his way from the hand of one of the squirrels. Whopper Hopper tried to run forwards, but merely slipped on the remains of the ‘scent’ on his feet. He splatted face-first into the remains that caused him to slither in the first place. Sam closed his eyes. “Can this possibly get any worse?” He questioned himself. The howls of laughter from his unwelcome guests partly answered his question.

“Are those horrible little creatures friends of yours?” Sam was sort of glad that Whopper Hopper hadn’t asked whether they were his family.

“No, they turned up out of nowhere a couple of months ago and have done nothing but give me grief ever since.”

“I need a bath.” Whopper Hopper said. Sam’s mind completely agreed, but his mouth said nothing – he was in enough trouble already with Whopper Hopper. Instead, Sam held out his hand to help Whopper Hopper get up and to his pond. Both of them jumped straight into the pond to wash off the nasty smell.

By this time, the anger built up inside of Whopper Hopper during his stinky ordeal had all but gone. Instead, he turned his attention to what his long-time friend, Sam, had said earlier. “So, tell me – what are these pesky squirrels doing in your tree?”

“Dunno.” Sam said. “They must have stripped their own tree of acorns and now want mine.

“All I want is to get rid of them, but I just can’t think of a way.”

“Thinking has never been your greatest asset.”

Sam only half caught what his friend uttered very quietly through the mask of his fingers and asked him to speak-up.

“Never-mind.” Whopper Hopper said.

All cleaned and dried a little while later, Sam and Whopper Hopper observed the old oak tree that had been a major, happy part of their home-land since they could both remember. Now, that peacefulness was under serious threat by a bunch of squirrels they could see springing from branch to branch and scurrying up and down the thick trunk. “Horrible little creatures.” Sam said. Whopper Hopper turned his head slowly, raised one eyebrow and looked Sam up and down. “I can’t see any difference.” He thought.

“Listen.” Whopper Hopper said. “I’ve got an idea.”

“An idea?”

“Yeah, and it just might work.” Sam did a lot of listening (as best he could), whilst Whopper Hopper did a lot of talking – which he was good at. At the dead of that night, when everything around the copse was quiet – except for a couple of owls chanting ke-wick followed by the occasional hoo-hoo-oo, Sam prised open one of his eyes. The plan Whopper Hopper had explained to him was, he thought, still clear in his mind.

“Now, firstly,” Sam said quietly to himself reluctantly peeling himself from his very cosy bed. “Whopper Hopper said I have to collect as many fresh acorns that I can find – and quietly, I remember he told me.” Sam scurried on his tip-toes from branch to branch picking the freshly ripened acorns and storing them in his jaws. At the last second he remembered that Whopper Hopper had told him to stay on his side of the tree so as not to disturb his unwanted guests.

His jaws bulging with acorns, Sam sat on a branch close to the other side of the tree where all of the interlopers slept. He had to think hard. “What did Whopper Hopper tell me to do next?” He thought. “Crikey, I’ve forgotten.” Then he heard it: ‘CROAK.’ “That’s it.” He uttered, then realised that the mission was to be done in total silence – Whopper Hopper had insisted – so clasped his paws over his mouth. He looked around, none of the squirrels had heard him.

“Idiot.” Whopper Hopper thought, sitting firmly on the very tip of a branch of the old oak tree. Earlier he’d silently leapt high in the air and grabbed the tip of the branch, pulling it down to the ground and sat on it. The branch was spring loaded from the floor.

“What was next – after the ‘croak’ signal to tell me Whopper Hopper was in position and ready on his side?” Sam thumped the side of his head to get his brain to remember.

“Move… along… and… down… the… branch.” Whopper Hopper mouthed to his friend, swiping his arm from left to right above his head. Sam looked down having noticed a curious movement in the darkness below. Whopper Hopper repeated his instruction this time in a quiet whisper. “Ah, yes – I must move as close to the tip of the branch as I can get.” Whopper Hopper’s plan made a brief visit to his mind. “Without falling off!” Sam crawled slowly and silently downwards and towards the tip of the branch Whopper Hopper held firm.

Sam reached a position he considered close enough to the tip of the branch to execute the next part of the plan, he turned around and sat down. That much he could remember, but the rest had gone from his mind. “This is hard work.” Whopper Hopper thought and waved both of his hands in the air to get Sam’s attention having noticed he wasn’t doing what he should be doing – in fact, he wasn’t doing anything at all. The dark movement caught the periphery of Sam’s eye. Whopper Hopper pointed furiously at his own cheeks, hoping that Sam’s limited information retention would be reminded of the next step.

Sam copied Whopper Hopper’s actions before realising his mouth was crammed full of acorns and he had a job to do with them – but just what was that job? Whopper Hopper pretended to take something from his mouth and place it into an invisible position in front of him. Sam’s black eyes widened as the job he needed to do dropped into his mind. He carefully began to remove the acorns from his mouth and place them tantalisingly on leaves all around him. And that was it. Sam’s brain-power was completely spent for that particular day – he would need to sleep to generate enough for another day, so he did.

Whopper Hopper waited for a short while for Sam to creep up to the entrance of the other squirrels’ drey – which was the next step in his plan. Sam did nothing. After attempting all sorts of vigorous movements using various parts of his body, Whopper Hopper decided that Sam had gone to sleep – and he was right. One of the intruder squirrels popped his head out of their drey, something had disturbed his sleep. At the tip of their entrance branch was a stash of fresh acorns. “I’m having them.” He said in a hushed voice and crawled towards them.

Whopper Hopper felt around him on the floor for something he could reach Sam with – a stick maybe to poke him or a small stone to throw. He found both. Firstly, he reached up towards Sam using the stick – it wasn’t quite long enough to reach even after he’d moved his bottom from the branch as much as he’d dared and shifted the stick to the tips of his fingers. By this time the newcomer squirrel had stuffed half of the acorns into his mouth. Whopper Hopper threw a stone towards Sam, but missed.

The squirrel stuffed the rest of the acorns into the other side of his mouth and sloped-off back to the entrance of their drey. A stone hit Sam and awoke him, but not straight away. The end of the plan darted into his mind. “Food.” He shouted at the top of his voice, not realising where he was. This was the signal Sam was to shout to get the squirrels from their drey at the same time as letting Whopper Hopper know he was safely away from the spring loaded branch. He knew that a short while later the outsider squirrels would be on the branch stealing the acorns – that was the plan anyway.

Whopper Hopper counted to five in his head and leapt from the branch. The branch sprang like a catapult. Sam Spiralli, twisting in the air like a sycamore seed, reflected in the eyes of the couple of owls policing the night-time, and splashed rather unceremoniously into the middle of Whopper Hopper’s pond. By this time all of the other squirrel’s – having been awakened by a commotion going on outside – had lined the branches of the tree and saw Sam splash into the pond. Howls of squirrel laughter woke almost every other creature in the copse. That was that.

Illustration X showing

‘Tst.’ The sound a lit match makes when dropped into a bucket of water reached Sam’s ears as he shook the pond water from them.

New Review

Another satisfied customer… spread the word!

New Reviews

Good Evening,

It was lovely to meet you today at the Ironbridge Coracle Regatta. We love the story book about Konk. Jesse is currently making him colourful to cheer him up. Thank you so much. 

Kind regards,

Natalie Bagnall

Workshop

Today, 8th August 2024, I will be reading a story or two to a bunch of ankle-biters in a local library situated in the town of Broseley, Telford. I will read Konk the White Crocodile and a Barley’s Biscuit story called Ghostly Whispers on Wenlock Edge. We will make 3D models of Konk the White Crocodile in cardboard for the younger ones and the older ones can write their own Barley’s Biscuit story.

Recent Events

Unfortunately, I have been ill for some days and had to cancel a number of events. I am now fit and raring to go at my next event to be held inside of Broseley Library on Thursday 8th August (see events for details and map). I will read some of my stories and hold a 3D model making workshop. Everyone is welcome to this free event!

Mr. B’s Busy-Bea (The Bee Bea Sea) Launch and Newspaper Article

Telford author reveals his latest children's book featuring environmental message

A Telford author has released his latest children's book featuring a 'subtle yet powerful' environmental message.

The Bee Bea Sea is Roy Bradshaw's eighth children's book and is the second book in his series of Mr. B's Busy-Bea books.

His latest book was launched from inside Southwater Library in Telford on Tuesday

The former engineer with teaching experience in secondary and primary schools was inspired to pen the story by the 'quantity of plastic micro-particles in our seas, rising at an alarming rate'.

Author Roy said: "Add this to the fact that fish are eating the plastic micro-particles, thinking them as food, then this leaves a worrying prospect for the future health of our seas."

Author and Publisher Paul Naylor at the launch.

Mr. B’s Busy-Bea (The Bee Bea Sea)

My latest release, the second in a series of Mr. B’s Busy-Bea books, was launched yesterday 30th July 2024 from Telford Library in the Town Centre. Despite the relatively low turn-out (the weather outside was more persuasive to a seaside visit than a library one), I read one of my stories to a group of children and our photographs were taken by the local newspaper - The Shropshire Star. The event was also represented by Mr Paul Naylor, owner of the publishing company I use, called Media and You. I donated two copies to the library for their stock and the book is now widely on sale.