A Q&A with Sarah King

It took me longer than most to learn to read and write as I have dyslexia. Although I was 10 when I first read a book all by myself, stories always captivated me—whether telling them or listening to them. My earliest tales centred around my brother and me being archaeologists making thrilling discoveries. Then once I started writing, I found it hard to stop—crafting stories, keeping a diary, and sending letters to family and friends while away at school, all with appalling handwriting and spelling! School was a struggle as dyslexia meant I often jumbled up my words, with ideas running on top of each other, but once I started working writing gradually became a tool to organise my thoughts—a skill that eventually led to a career in media and public relations.

My aim is always to set aside blocks of time each day to write but, while it is a joy, I often struggle to make this a reality. Instead I try to finish all the little tasks on my ‘should do’ list to clear my mind before turning to writing and the list is always far too long. It is a very bad habit - the key is to have a routine, put everyday life aside and then get into the right writing “voice” before beginning.

I’ve only written one book so far, and family circumstances meant it took far longer than I’d anticipated. Until I finish another, I won’t really know how long it usually takes me. Writing a book is a unique journey each time; I suspect my next one will be quicker, since I’ve been composing it in my head for quite a while.

Writing by hand would be too slow and difficult for me, and dictating is even more challenging, since I’d need to plan everything out in advance. Typing is my method of choice—I type quickly, starting with my research, which I organise and edit down until the book gradually takes shape. There’s real joy in finding the perfect word or phrase; once the words start flowing, they often tumble out faster than my fingers can keep up.

Drafting is my favourite stage—when you are able to start joining the dots and the shape of the story, someone’s life, begins to emerge. But editing is where the manuscript is truly sculpted into its final form.

Authors often mention ‘writer’s block’ but I think this is a natural part of the creative process. When it happens, I either step away and do something else or keep going and write imperfectly until the words start flowing again. However self-doubt is a constant companion as is the challenge, when writing a biography, of balancing historical accuracy with engaging storytelling. But by far the biggest challenge with this book was reading the 19th century handwriting; it was so problematic for me I nearly gave up. Then a new friend who had recently moved into the area came round for a drink and was so fascinated by Isabel’s letters that she offered to transcribe them all for me and got involved in helping with the research! I was so touched.

I had to stop work when my son became seriously ill as a teenager.  As he was able to go to school some of the time, I was looking for something to occupy me and started sorting through a file of papers I had inherited including my great grandmother Isabel’s diaries while she was in India (1904-1909) and over 500 letters that she wrote to her mother during that time. 

Although I struggled with the style of writing, what emerged was a lively description of the extraordinary way the Indian Empire conducted itself, seen through the eyes of a liberally educated, upper-middle-class London woman. She is open about the extraordinary social demands her husband’s role imposed on her, exposing just what it was like for the women behind the men ruling history’s largest empire. The letters also offer first-hand accounts of key figures and the events over five years which were amongst the most significant in the history of the British Empire which had an impact still felt in India today.  I knew very little about the history and it was fascinating to learn about Lord Curzon, who sounds the most extraordinarily arrogant man, and his battles with the India Office and Lord Kitchener (head of the Indian Army), and his dramatic and deeply humiliating downfall.

It was also moving to read about Isabel being whisked away from her comfortable world in Bayswater to suddenly managing 27 servants and becoming one of the top wives in the Indian Empire’s pecking order (everyone had a rank; she jumped from number 9 to number 3, which meant hosting the future King of England, for example). But what I loved most were her personal stories about her four daughters—her letters are packed with these lovely, intimate family details. 

Amongst the papers was also a note from my Great Aunt Audrey (Audrey Richards, a highly respected anthropologist) with ideas she and her three sisters had had for a book about their parents in India.  Being so worried about my son and realising how much I missed them and how amazingly kind and supportive they had been while my brothers and I were growing up, it struck me that a way to say ‘thank you’ and keep me busy would be to write the book they had wanted written.

Yes—the cause of education for women, something Isabel’s aunt Josephine Butler campaigned for and one that Isabel herself embraced in India, not only for her own girls but also through raising funds for the schooling of Indian girls. Ultimately, the family returned home not only because the life didn’t suit them, but also because they wanted a better education for their daughters.

Behind this is the broader issue of the changing place of women in society. Isabel was comfortable with the traditional role of wife and mother and appears to have managed the move to India and the highly structured Raj society with extraordinary ease. And yet it becomes apparent that she really struggled with the conflicting demands of what was expected from a woman in her position and her own expectations for her contribution as a wife and mother—which, in many ways, reminded me of my own experience as a working mother exactly one hundred years later. She had a very modern approach towards her daughters’ development; her commitment to their education was matched by a desire to foster energy, independence, and confidence in each of her children. Turning their backs on the splendour, salary, and pension, the couple returned home to comfortable obscurity. When her mother questioned the decision, expressing concern that she would miss all the servants, the balls, and the carriage, Isabel is quick to reassure her that she would, in fact, welcome the chance to “travel by London bus” once more. And she clearly did—and went on to send her daughters to a school founded by the suffragists.

I was struck by the strictly regulated social life—especially for women—with its exhausting “rules of precedence” that dictated dinner seating and led to endless evenings sitting next to the same people. Also how hard Isabel worked as a ‘professional’ wife; it was a full-time career requiring well beyond eight hours a day—paying visits, attending dinners, balls, managing a huge staff and household. Another surprise was the logistical feat of moving the entire government, along with all its staff and their families, between Calcutta and Simla every six months. And the negative impact the arrogant Curzon had had on India, as his actions directly strengthened demands for independence and helped set India on the road to partition.

However, the real surprise was in discovering how enjoyable piecing the story together proved to be. With it came another unexpected bonus: reading through the diaries and letters, I found traces of myself and my own family, little echoes that I had not seen as “us” until I saw them reflected back down the generations. The humour and affection that Isabel and Harry shared with their family is something I value in my own marriage and in my relations with my children and siblings. The process reminded me of the importance of capturing memories—letters, diaries, and photos not only illuminate history, they help us see ourselves more clearly. Isabel and her family lived real lives, filled with love and worries just like ours, even if their language feels unfamiliar today.

A sequel of sorts, a book of lively pen portraits of colourful characters from the 60s and 70s, interwoven with childhood memories.