I grew up in a small mining village in South Wales, where life was hard and luxuries were few. My father and grandfather were both coal miners. Both died before their time. The dust, the miners called it. It slowly destroyed their lungs and claimed far too many lives.

Those early years taught me that history is never simply a collection of dates and events. It is lived by ordinary people and carried forward through families, communities, and memory.

Education opened a different path. I studied history, economics, and psychology, supporting myself through work in coal yards, factories, and on production lines. Although my own life took me away from the mining valleys, I never lost my fascination with the forces that shape people’s lives.

After university I spent almost forty-five years working in information technology. It was a career that took me around the world and introduced me to people from remarkably different cultures, professions, and backgrounds. Looking back, I realise those years were another education. I saw how ambition, kindness, fear, loyalty, and character revealed themselves in every walk of life.

When I retired in 2019, I finally had the opportunity to pursue the questions that had accompanied me for much of my life.

Today I live in the heart of Eryri (Snowdonia) National Park in North Wales. Much of my work begins with a walk. A ruined chapel, an abandoned quarry, an old photograph, or a forgotten name in an archive can become the starting point for months of research. Sometimes the result is a novel; at other times, an essay or a photograph. More often, it simply leads to another question.