My dad’s mother, Molly Brown (1919-1982). Left home at 14 and despite a lack of formal education, got into nursing school in London. She broke every rule while a nursing student, usually something to due with being out partying. Molly was a lifelong student and my dad hardly ever saw her without a book in hand. He told me she was a stereotypical “Memsahib,” who in the absence of her husband, took extremely good care of her four children without complaining.

She was also a strikingly beautiful young woman.


Elan, The Jasmine Court, PLBW 15

The “Jasmine Court” paid tribute to Sub continental Royalty’s romantic era of the late 18th century. The Maharajas and Nizams of the princely states were heavily influenced by the “gora” sahibs and “memsahibs” of the British Empire and thus ensued a tide of court fashion marking an entanglement of Western sensibilities with eastern decadence.

Jasmine and Star Sapphires

One shot fic, a Captain Swan colonial India AU.

Warning - sad things happen in this. Sometimes the muse demands angst.

Jasmine and Star Sapphires

She feels that she could live here for a lifetime and never get used to the heat.

It never ceases, not during the winter months nor during the rainy season when the heavens open up and she dares not venture out of doors for fear that she might drown right where she stands, it’s as if the sea itself has upended and trees and villages are swept away whole in the wake. They call it the monsoon, and the first year she had assumed it must have been the kind of storm that occurs only once in a century. But it is a yearly rite of passage in this land that turns deserts to greenery and brings some measure of relief from the scorching temperatures.

Some. Not all.

India is an ancient country, of strange gods and aromatic spices, deadly serpents and bright textiles, fabulous wealth and crushing poverty.

And heat.

Ceaseless, unrelenting heat.

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