A Scent That Belongs to Autumn

 Good evening, everyone. It’s mid August already, and do you feel a chill creeping in? Mouse and Lady Cora are chilling on the window ledge observing the flight path of the swallows outside, no doubt forming a plan between them but they’re indoor cats so I do believe the swallows fly past just to annoy them. 

I have finally had some time to relax and go for a stroll around some old bookshops, which brings me to some fab old tomes I bought to add to my shelves. I am very excited about one in particular, Lord Byron. I just love his poetry. 

The thing that I love most about late August, and autumn are the scented candles. Some shops are beginning to stock some lovely ones at the moment.  

This evening let’s discuss the scent of autumn and the last days of August. 

When the Evenings Begin to Draw In 

I remember as a child in Offaly, usually the second last week of August, my mother would bring me to the local market town. Now, first things first, we would have tea and a cream bun in a teashop. Afterwards we would go to the department store for clothes; jumpers, blouses and a navy pinafore. Our school didn’t have a uniform at that time. The whole of the school shopping could take up to forty minutes, between looking for the clothes and talking to her friends, but everything was found in the department store. 

Then the real shopping was done, not just for me but for my mother too. We would drop the clothing parcels back to the car where my father would be waiting patiently and conversing with neighbours, whose wives were on a similar mission. 

After we dropped the bags back to the car, my mother would hold my hand and we would make our way across the street to the newsagents, which also sold paperbacks and art supplies. 

As it was a Saturday, my mother, who was an avid reader, would pick up a  magazine and a paperback. She loved to read Mills & Boon, and she would smile warmly at the colourful covers. I would get an Enid Blyton Famous Five book, two magazines, Twinkle and Bunty, and also a colouring book and some crayons. 

Saturday night at home after the school shop was always a special time. My mother would make creamed potatoes and fishfingers. We’d also have some homemade tea cake. Then after the tea was over and the table cleared, she would riddle the fire and sit down and read her book. I would sit at the table and read my magazines, or maybe colour. 

Looking back now, at the routine that my mother had, I always remember fondly that weekend in August. As the nights begin to close in, I have a scented vanilla and cinnamon candle burning on the mantle and I pick up a book to read. 

While the World Grows Quiet

August, particularly in the Midlands where I grew up, is never guaranteed to be a warm month, but we loved it. Though the long evenings were coming to an end and the preparation and talk was that of returning to school, it was still full of expectation. 

The smell of old leather bound books in the library seem stronger in August, maybe that’s because I am more in tune with the atmosphere. To me autumn is a scent as well as a season, a feeling as well as a memory. 

Sometimes, I sit beside the fire in the library, Lady Cora might jump up onto my lap, and purr contentedly. It’s as if she can sense the year is growing old and soon it will become quiet and colourful. But in a different way. Bright yellows and pink will be replaced by amber, purple and red. 

Books for the Darkening Evenings 

As I said earlier, all my edits are finished and book 9 of the Tempus Militibus Series is getting its final attention from my editor. That’s nerve wrecking because it’s no longer my baby now, as it prepares to meet readers.

So, I have time to indulge in some reading, reading for pleasure now, and not for research. I was looking in the attic and void space recently and found a box of books. Probably shifted into the attic a long time ago and meant to be sorted but alas were forgotten about. I picked up a book that I absolutely adored as a teen and put it to one side, then picked up another, and another. Before long I had a pile of books beside me, that I read so long ago. These are perfect reads for the darkening evenings. 

One of the books was ‘Way to Dusty Death’ by Alistair MacLean, another was ‘Caravan to Vaccarès’ also by MacLean. Cold war era spy novels but they have a bite to them. Especially at this time of year. 

So, my friends, as the nights return early, so too does the nostalgia. Summers, for me, as a child were filled with adventures and games. Running in fields through wild meadows and then shopping for school with my mother.

Every time I smell a vanilla and pumpkin candle or have a flavoured latte, I am transported back to childhood, to books that led me on secret adventures, colouring in pictures and then listening to my mum as she discussed with her friends, a Mills & Boon that she had just finished. 

For me, this is the scent of autumn, the smells of August captured in a moment, in a reverie. 

Until next time my lovelies, enjoy your latte, and light a candle, riddle the fire and pick up a favourite book.

Anna..xoxo