By the author of The Threshing Circle this haunting story
of loss and determination again involves secrets and
isolation. Starting in a Royal Ordnance Factory in 1951,
the ominous countdown towards a major explosion in the
nitrate house holds us petrified. THE HOARD reflects the
reality of life in the Somerset village where the main
source of work, like mining, could well be deadly.
In 1979, the son of a man killed that day joins the same
top-secret factory under a false name. Byron wants to find
out if there is any truth to the rumour that the explosion
was planned and his father and the other workers were
murdered. The details of the manufactory are well-
described: the scattered domed buildings with earth banks
to baffle explosions, connected by zigzag tunnels to reduce
the spread of blasts. Workers may not bring in any tobacco
paraphernalia, cameras or radios, nor wear zips, metal
fastenings or buttons. Acids, nitrates and other chemicals
including plastic explosives are in use here, a shock to
the system for newcomers. Ancillary workers such as
nurses, cooks, gardeners and plumbers make the place a self-
contained village.
Byron is hardly on the job when he finds that there are two
sets of rules; the official and the ones that work. Anyone
in a position of power, including laundry, sewing ladies
and foremen, is on the take from other staff to make their
working lives easier. With so many people on site, and so
many opportunities for diversion from standards, how can he
discover what really happened in 1951?
With a mostly male cast ranging from the burly shop steward
to the smooth-talking manager and preoccupied industrial
chemist, British author Neil Grimmett is in his element,
producing another thoroughly-researched book where
characters carry events.
The main female character is Lydia
Clarke, wife of a factory worker who falls foul of some
sadistic bullies. Period detail is sprinkled in as everyone
knew Arthur Scargill the trade unionist or Champion the
Wonder Horse. The knowledge that poisons were being
ingested, and the countryside was being fouled, made little
difference.
Containing strong language and adult imagery,
THE HOARD is a masculine and meaty book, with constant and
escalating tension, violence implied and actual. Neil
Grimmett's fans will be thrilled with this powerful,
explosive story.
The Hoard is a thriller set in the secretive, dangerous world of a Royal Ordnance Factory; a vast, surreal place full of some of the most volatile elements on the planet. Thirty years before the main story, the nitration house at the ROF in Bridgwater exploded in a fireball that could be seen for miles around. The entire crew was killed, and the source of the explosion was never found; authorities claimed that the charge in the nitrator had gone critical and that the chargehand was unable to stop a lethal cook- off. But Gunner Wade, the man the nitration crew sent for help that day knows differently: they were murdered; and he was branded a coward. Now Byron, the son of one of the victims, enters the sprawling Gormenghast-like compound of the top secret factory to discover the truth about his father's death. But what he finds in the dark heart of this world is a hidden hoard of super-high explosives; illegally produced and drenched in the blood of those killed to conceal its existence. As the threat of discovery mounts, Byron finds himself at the centre of a struggle between good and evil; both to prevent a destructive force from being unleashed again and to bring the sadistic mass murderers who killed his father to justice. He is aided by an unlikely alliance of helpers, including the beautiful widow of a murdered chemist and Gunner Wade. Against them are the original perpetrators and their new legion of evil acolytes. Inspired by a massive explosion that killed six men at the real-world ROF Bridgwater facility in 1951 - no cause was ever found - The Hoard is a gripping, grim novel that offers a glimpse into a self-contained apocalyptic landscape scarred both by the birthing of the materiel that fuels war, and the hearts of evil men who would do anything for greed.
Excerpt
PART TWO THE CURTAIN RISES Spring 1979 CHAPTER FOUR Byron smelled salt, then felt a whiplash of it from the adjacent Dunball Wharf. A fouler stink assaulted him from the British Cellophane factory in nearby Bridgwater. It added to the mounting doubts he was having about the whole venture. He looked across the dual carriageway to the dark Greenhill Arms pub and the narrow lane leading alongside it to his cottage. Byron imagined walking back and forgetting this madness. It would be such a simple matter to have his vital possessions returned to his real home, then slip off to where he was actually supposed to be: taking in the galleries and architectural splendours of Europe with some fellow graduates. It made him wince to think how easily his mother and aunt had bought that lie; how delighted they’d been with the romance of it. Byron glared at the distant glow of the explosive factory with its shadows of fume dancing overhead. The shapes seemed to form a mockery of Michelangelo’s ‘Creation of Adam’, with their Antichrist version beckoning him on. He smiled at the notion of fleeing, knowing that’s all it was, and that he was at last here after a near-lifetime of unanswered questions about a lost father he’d never met. And how his mother had made sure he had the chance to be everything the man she had never stopped loving wanted him to be. He saw the letters from Gunner Wade that she had tried to keep hidden, particularly the last one claiming his father had not died a hero but been murdered. There was no running or hiding from that. He turned defiantly into the cold and stared as the fume ghosts danced above the factory. Heavy footsteps approached out of the darkness. Two grey- looking men arrived and glowered silently. Then Byron saw the sepia glow of the approaching factory bus. “No turning back,” he whispered to himself. “What?” one of the men asked. “I was just wondering if this was the right bus,” Byron answered. “Could be, son,” the other replied. “This is the ghost train. If you’ve got the right ticket, it’ll take you all the way to the gates of hell.”
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