Tag Archives: Segora

Extraordinary Ellia:

Harriet thought she’d died in the accident. She was standing in a French library full of English books, and French libraries normally have just one English shelf. A heaven full of books seemed fitting to Harriet, though misfortune had placed the library in Angers, a four-hour drive from Harriet’s home.

I pinched myself and realised I hadn’t died. I wasn’t dreaming. This wasn’t heaven – and in any case I hadn’t had an accident (unless you count what happened in Angers’ English sweetshop, but that’s another story).

If you’re confused here, just read the beginning of Tree Magic, which is free to ‘look inside’ on the Amazon ebook page, and everything will become clear. Ish. Well, it may sound vaguely familiar.

Anyway, back to the library: when I met Phoebe at the St.Clémentin literary festival last year and she told me she worked in an English-Language library in Angers, I imagined a cosy little nook squeezed between two houses in a back street.

So when she invited me to talk to the library coffee morning group about my novel Tree Magic, I presumed the audience would be a handful of people huddled between bookcases.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Let me begin by telling you about this amazing library, which is a non-profit organisation called Ellia (an acronym for ‘English Language Library In Angers’, since you were about to ask).

It has 30 000 English books, 4 staff, 1600 members and 100 volunteers – making it the biggest English language library in the west of France. There’s a catalogue on the website so you can check if the book you want is there before you drive to Angers, and you can even borrow ebooks to download onto your e-reader.

But the library is far more than a series of numbers and a list of services. If you’ve read my blog posts about Le Kairn, the brand new bookshop in the Val d’Azun, you’ll know that I talked about how I believed it would soon become a hub for cultural activities.

Well, the 23-year-old Ellia library is exactly that: a community hub. It’s a meeting place for English speakers who love books, of course, but also a base for a diverse range of activities ranging from French conversation groups and English creative writing circles to gardening, knitting and film clubs.


What has made it so popular, in my opinion, is the warmth of the welcome that visitors receive. While I was having coffee with Phoebe (you get a bottomless cup of tea or coffee for a euro), she greeted the people who wandered in and chatted with each of them.

It’s hardly surprising there are so many volunteers – some of whom I met as they sat around a table covering books with plastic. The other staff and interns – including Mandy, Sandrine, Oksana and Dominique – are just as friendly. There’s absolutely no reason to feel lonely if you live in or near Angers and like books.

Half of Ellia’s funding comes from a combination of City Hall, the two Angers universities (students receive free membership) and Maine-et-Loire county council. The rest is made up from membership fees and fundraising events.

An example of an event is the food stand they’ll be manning at the street theatre festival Les Accroche-coeurs on 8-10 September. The festival’s 2017 theme is ‘So British’, which means discussions at Ellia are currently underway to decide on the most suitable British dish to serve.

If you have any ideas (please, no Marmite or jelly), let me know and I’ll pass them on.

Now you know a little about Ellia, you can appreciate how it was that over 30 people came to listen to my Tree Magic talk. (I stopped counting at 30, as they were looking expectantly at me and I thought I’d better begin).

It’s always scary to stand up in front of people and talk, so I was relieved when it was over. My relief, however, was short-lived.

‘Do you mind if Isma interviews you?’ Phoebe asked me.

‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘It won’t be filmed or anything, will it?’

There was a silence.

Silly me… This was the point at which I discovered that the computery stuff on the shelf was actually filming me for the whole talk. Which means that those scandalous secrets I accidentally revealed…

I sat in the armchair beside Isma and did my best to answer questions that were only difficult because I had to answer them on the spot.

It was decidedly worse that the radio interviews I did when Tree Magic was first published.

Am I the only person whose mind goes maddeningly blank when I’m asked questions in front of a recording device?

The best part of doing author talks is that you meet so many interesting people afterwards. I had a great chat with William, one Anne Woodford’s writing group members.

Anne is a talented writer whom I also met at St. Clémentin. Her short story was placed 2nd in the 2016 Segora International Writing Competition, run by the St.Clémentin festival organisers, and you can read it here (you’ll have to scroll down a little).

I had some lovely feedback about how people felt inspired to go off and write after my talk. Some people even bought a copy of Tree Magic!

If you have a chance to visit the lovely city of Angers, pop into the library. You’ll see exactly what I mean about Ellia being extraordinary.







Quark Soup

Quark Soup

Yippee! 3rd place in the Segora International Short Story competition for my ‘Quark Soup’. The competition was judged by Amanda Hodgkinson (who wrote the bestseller ’22 Britannia Road’) and organised by Gordon and Jocelyn Simms. Congratulations to Fleur Smithwick (1st) and Anne Woodford (2nd), whose writing I admire enormously. I feel honoured to have my name alongside theirs on the Segora website announcement. You can download and read Quark Soup here.

Amanda said:

“Third place goes to QUARK SOUP. This is a lyrical and emotional look at the life of a couple dealing with illness and changes in their lives. The writing is rich and detailed, and satisfyingly full of emotional depth and wisdom.”

I was lucky enough to meet Amanda in Bordeaux last year, when she spoke about her work. You can read my blog post about her here.

There is also a review of Quark Soup on ‘String To My Bow’ website

“Springbett starts with an assault of flavours and textures and quickly hits the reader with a one-two punch that completes the metaphor of the opening paragraph and literally takes the breath away.

The timespan of this short story is a mere couple of minutes, yet in that time the protagonist feels, remembers and tastes every aspect of her love for her husband.

With a bombshell happening in the third paragraph, it is hard to see how the author will resolve this emotional story. And yet she does with a sleight of hand that is as natural and beautiful as the prose.

Quark Soup was recently awarded third prize in the Segora International Short Story competition. A real deserved plaudit for Springbett’s approach to the genre.”

Have Bike, Will Travel (to Segora)


We arrived in the night: a yawning, stretching carload of tired family. Rain-splashed doors slammed. The kids spilled out, shrieking when the soaked grass kissed their bare toes.

The campsite was deserted – or so we thought.

Blackness walled us into a car-lit halo. We were invaders; though exactly what kind of planet we’d arrived on, we couldn’t see. The kids snatched torches and hurtled into the darkness like shooting stars, only to crash back to earth at their Dad’s ‘Come and help.’

Out came the equipment – tent, bicycle, sleeping bag, notebook – and my loved ones took off, destined for another galaxy.

I stood beside my folded home, my world diminished to a pinpoint of torchlight and the shapes of a silent unknown. There were no owls, no animal coughs, no thudding hoofs: just the heaviness of shadows bearing down on me. The silence was acute after the family noise, as if something were listening, sizing me up before making itself known.

I shone my torch towards a nearby tree, searching for a place to pitch my tent. Beside the tree I could see a motionless figure. A human? (mugger, rapist, murderer)

It’s just a tree stump, I reassured myself. I took a step towards it, tripped over a bag that had fallen from the car and fell. My torch rolled away.

It came to a stop at a pair of feet. There stood an American Indian, his arms folded, gazing into the night.


Hardly the warmest welcome to the Segora Presentation Weekend, but then I was the one who’d chosen to camp after a week of rain on a teepee campsite in the heart of the Deux-Sèvres. At least I wasn’t alone this time, unlike at Charroux – if you can count a full-size Red Indian statue as company.

Gordon and Jocelyn Simms had organised a series of workshops, plays and poetry readings around the writing competition winners’ presentation dinner. Their cheerful welcome the next morning made up for the Indian’s aloof reception.

After we’d explored the vignette writing form with Ed Briggs and Anne Woodford, poet John Hudson made us think about the ownership of our writing. His workshop – which included a knight’s helmet, incense and clothes pegs – had us cutting up and reforming our poetry: for better, for worse and for plenty of laughs.

Then came a rehearsed reading of the wonderful one-act play ‘What’s the Time, Virginia Woolf’, written by Segora winner Peter (Doc) Watson and performed with brio by Jocelyn, Gordon and Sally Pearson.

The Pearson family were represented in force: the guest speaker over dinner at Chez Didier was South Korea Reuters reporter James Pearson. He talked about daily life in North Korea and intrigued us with his insights into the role of the black market in North Koreans’ lives. You can read about his interesting experiences in his book.

The atmosphere Chez Didier was convivial, partly because everyone dabbled in both languages. It was a truly bilingual evening of vignette, poetry and short stories read by English and French actresses and authors. I particularly enjoyed Sally’s winning vignette.

Towards the end I read an extract from my commended story ‘Shingle and Sand’. The people who fell asleep must have been tired after their literary exertions, or perhaps it was the wine…no, seriously, I didn’t notice anyone snoring. It was the first time I’d read out my work (apart from an essay at the Highbridge Festival of the Arts when I was 10). Luckily, the audience was indulgent with my first-time errors. You can read the complete story here.


The weekend finished in the sun with John Hudson. He took a group of us around the bustling village of St.Clementin. Between the fanfare and the announcements on the loud speaker (it was the annual bric-a-brac), he read out hard-hitting poems from his ‘Shapeshifter’ collection.

His readings were dramatic performances and confirmed my belief that poems should be read out loud. When this happens at the site of inspiration, it makes for even stronger emotions. I can still hear his words about the German occupation and see the slate-roofed manor house the Nazis commandeered.

Perhaps John should check out the Red Indian at my campsite. (mugged, raped, murdered)