True Crime Book Review

Operation Julie – the Inside Story by Stephen Bentley

I don’t usually publish book reviews, but this one is just too good not to share.

Stephen Bentley is an undercover cop. Steve Jackson is a hippie drug dealer – or is he? In order to infiltrate a global drug ring – the characters manufacturing and distributing LSD in the UK, a clandestine group of detectives need to live a double life. This raw, captivating account of working deep undercover in 1970s UK is told by a detective who lived it.

This true story describes not only the intricacies of an undercover operation but also the difficulties detectives experience in adjusting to “normal” life after the project is completed. The author does not hold back in describing the toll it took on his personal life, especially the effects on his mental health at a time when there was little understanding from superiors during an undercover operation and no support afterwards. And, to this day, the author remains conflicted about relationships he established in the past as he asks himself, “who am I?”

As someone who lived in the UK and Ireland while this investigation was going on, I wonder how close some of my acquaintances at that time were to Operation Julie detectives. One of the addresses given in the book was a stone’s throw away from a London squat I lived in.

A great read, but I think it could have ended sooner. All the rambling points at the end sound more like the author trying to convince himself. We, the readers already get it. Case closed. 5 Stars

Book Reviews and Indie Authors

Ontario Canada Book Club

As an indie author, getting book reviews is very important. So when a book club in Ontario asked for a video conference with me at their monthly meeting, I was delighted to participate. Receiving honest feedback from these women helps me to grow as an author and I feel as if I’ve made some new friends in the process.

To read additional reviews, please go to Amazon and Goodreads or follow book bloggers Amy and Mari.

Paperback Sale

Only 3 days left to get my paperback memoir, A Squatter in London, on sale! On March 1st the price goes up. Check it out on:

Amazon Canada      Amazon US      Amazon UK

E-book also available for purchase but you’ll miss out on vintage 1970s photos. Be sure to tell your non-fiction, like-the-feel-of-paper, reader friends before it’s too late!

 

Hockey Night in Saskatchewan

Re-blogging this for all you hockey fans.

Irene Pylypec

taylor-friehl-1301748-unsplash“Let’s play hockey!” was an oft repeated phrase by kids growing up on the Canadian prairies. For me, a kid who grew up on a farm four miles from the village of Yellow Creek, Saskatchewan, that meant lacing up my skates and heading to the outdoor rink at recess with my classmates – boys and girls alike.

Meanwhile, back on the farm, hockey took a slightly different twist. Hockey pucks were expensive and had the curious habit of disappearing into snowbanks never to be seen again until spring thaw. So, frozen horse turds served as an admirable substitute in a game of barnyard shinny. When my older brother’s friends dropped by, play resumed on our private playground – the frozen slough in the midst of the Gryba bush. The Gryba family owned the mostly-uncleared piece of land across the grid road opposite to our farm but did not live there. …

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The Sugar Shack

“There’s a crazy little shack beyond the tracks. And everybody calls it the sugar shack…”

In Canada, the land of maple syrup, the sugar shack is a building where sap from the sugar maple is boiled to produce maple syrup. This sweet treat is produced in eastern Canada, primarily in the province of Quebec.

However, in the 1960s sugar shacks could also be found on the western prairies. And yes, every little town in Saskatchewan had one.

The sugar shack was a thing of enormous mystery. It seemed to be founded by the males of the species and the exact location was always shrouded in secrecy. Whenever the topic of the sugar shack was discussed amongst my high school classmates, I would pester the boys – imploring them to let me in on the big secret. I was told that it was a boys-only clubhouse and that they, and only they knew the location of it and were the only ones who could enter inside its hallowed walls. Defeated, I accepted that explanation until I found out that one of my girlfriends who lived in town knew all about it and had even been inside! Now I’m being told a slightly different story by the boys. Now they tell me that sometimes the girls from town get a special invitation to see the clubhouse but I live too far away on a farm. Well, I’m having none of that! I approach one of the boys afterward and insist that he take me to the sugar shack. Reluctantly, he agrees to take my friend and me to show us the place.

I’m really excited to solve the mystery of the sugar shack: where is it? What does it look like? What goes on there? I fully expect to find the sugar shack somewhere in the bush, possibly beside the railway tracks. Much to my surprise, we are escorted to the opposite end of town. And there it is, an unassuming building hidden in plain sight. It’s just up the hill on the southeastern edge of downtown, two houses away from my relatives’ house. And it may be small, but it’s not a shack at all!

Instead of the rundown shack situated in some covert location in the woods, we enter what appears to be a newly-constructed tiny house. The room itself is sparsely furnished with a table, a couple of chairs, and even a bed.

“So, what do you guys do here?” I ask innocently.

“Oh, we mostly just hang out here, talking and reading comics,” replies our host. Sometimes, we get somebody to pull us a case of beer. And, of course, nobody can see us,” he continues, pointing to the curtained windows, “so we can smoke here anytime.”

“Well, we better be going!” he says abruptly. Girls aren’t allowed here. And I’m one of two guys who has keys to this place. If somebody else wants the key, I don’t want them to see you girls here. Don’t tell anyone I took you here,” he pleads.

What really went on there? Was it really a clubhouse for prairie boys to hang out with their buddies while reading comic books and drinking beer? Or was it more like a love shack where, far removed from parents’ prying eyes, they would take their ‘sugar’?

Wait. What’s that sound I hear? Oh, I believe it’s the collective snickering of seniors reliving their adolescent dreams in a prairie sugar shack. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I really don’t know the answer. All I know is that there wasn’t so much as an ounce of maple sugar produced there.

Looking to Escape the Cold this Winter?

And are you looking for a good book to read while you’re relaxing under a swaying palm tree, viewing an ocean paradise from the comfort of your beach lounge? It’s not too late to buy that perfect book! My memoir, A Squatter in London, is currently available  in paperback from Amazon at a reduced price. It’s also available as an e-book, but you’ll miss out on the vintage 1970s images that are offered in the paperback version.

Hurry! You only have until the end of February to benefit from the special price. Even if you’re not going to the Dead Sea.

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