Bring Down The Moon


SKU e-book Category

175 in stock


By Eva Le Bon

ISBN: 978-1-84991-606-6
Published: 2011
Pages: 115
Key Themes: Mental Health, Romance, Fiction, Multi-Stranded


Who do you think you are?
Written with sensitivity and compassion, the manuscript Bring Down the Moon straddles the genre of romance and family saga over 50 years. At times romantic, at times tragic It offers an overarching message of hope.

The story initially revolves around the doctor’s home, the heart of the community in the 60’s and sees the joys, adventures and struggles from such a well loved start in life. It becomes an account of the heroine: Fleur’s story. It is a story of honesty and veiled truths, with the intensity of emotions as two sisters marry two brothers. How wonderful to have such closeness, Fleur thinks, but is it?

Many a reader’s nerve might be touched by the layering of stories within stories highlighted through the eyes of Polly from the charity shop; Annie the doctor’s housekeeper; Fleur the heroine, and Father Francis. Fleur’s life takes an unexpected twist when in hearing the reflections of the old priest at the end of his life, she is brought back by an invisible moon to the start of her own.

About the Author

This sensitively written novel is Eva Le Bon’s first piece of fiction writing.
From the tapestry of her own lived life including her experience as a psychotherapist she has really loved letting her pen write this novel, with no rush, over several years of her life, and has been intrigued by where it has taken her!

At times tear jerking and thought provoking Eva’s story challenges us to keep on discovering our own pathway through, whoever we think we are, and whatever the cards of life have dealt us, as we write our own stories by the light of the moon.

Book Extract

‘Goodness!’ Polly looked up, a bit disorientated from her reading.
‘Is that the time already? in three quarters of an hour we’ll be there!’ That was something Polly often did these days, had little conversations in her head. She put the book into her shoulder bag and went to the loo. Her mind was fairly absorbing the story. She was enjoying reading about the two girls. An only child herself she had always liked the idea of having a sister.

Polly wondered what Penzance would be like. The last time she had come here was forty-five years ago with her grand dad Burt -he had brought her to Penzance for a Bank holiday weekend treat. They had come by train then, only it took them a lot longer. Polly got off the train, a tear in her eye on her per-sonal journey.

‘All those years ago’, she said to herself as she soaked up the scenery, the cobbled streets, and thought of the ‘little Polly’ buying cough candy at the tobacconist shop on the corner and she chose a small doll in Cornish costume to give to her mother at the end of the weekend’s holiday.
Granddad was such a jolly man, Polly recalled, as she walked on, and they had a very close relation-ship. He had come to live with her mother and father when Polly was about seven, and had the box room upstairs as his bedroom. Polly’s parents were very wrapped up in their own lives as their grocery business meant early starts and late closing hours, so Polly learned to occupy herself from an early age.
Polly could remember hearing her Grandad’s greeting when she came home from school:
‘That you love, Polly, is that you? Wait a minute I’m just coming down’ Routinely these words would be accompanied by a flushing sound as he emerged from the bathroom: definitely a creature of habit!
She remembered his distinctive shuffle, a slight limp, his rough cheek brushing on hers as he gave her a raspberry kiss and chuckled, but most of all she couldn’t think of him without remembering his smell: twist tobacco. Lighting his pipe and puffing away was who granddad was. Polly remembered the pipe cleaners and the tapping that he did onto the ashtray: the rolling of the tobacco, and the way thinking and speaking seemed to go with the puffing. A lot of the time he lived in his little room at the top of the stairs, and read but when she was home they were company for each other. ‘No trouble, are we? You and me, eh? No trouble at all!’

‘Here on holiday?’ the young waitress said to Polly with a distinctive Cornish burr.’

‘Just visiting these parts’

Polly bought herself a fish and chip meal, a pot of tea, bread and butter, it was delicious an ideal thing to have somewhere like Penzance. She knew she would return again some day; this would be a ‘home’ place, for the rest of her life. The trick of light from the sea was superb and transformed the colour washed cottages.

5.20pm and Polly managed to find a window seat again and took out her book wondering what Maria was getting up to: she liked her plucky spirit, and imagined they really got on, as sisters. She was a bit less certain about how the character of Fleur was going to develop. She couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something sad about her and at present she was just a bit too goody two shoes for her own good. Then Polly found herself worrying about what she’d have to do with it all when she’d finished reading:
‘Stop it! Polly’, she heard her inner voice tell her, ‘Stop looking ahead, stay in the now enjoy the story, enjoy your journey’

‘Hurry up Maria. Come on we don’t want to miss that train do we?’
It was a wrench waving bye-bye to her at the station. Mother and father had decided to take her by train to see her safely settled and for the first term, she would have ‘live in’ accommodation in the hospital
‘It’ll be the making of her,’ mother said with confidence, and father agreed…


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