Where People, Nature and History Meet. An Interview with Yorkshire based writer Sally Coulthard.

Sally Coulthard has built a remarkable writing life from the creatures, objects, landscapes and half-forgotten stories that surround us. With a background in Archaeology and Anthropology at Oxford and a daily connection to the natural world on her Yorkshire smallholding, Sally combines serious research with wit, accessibility and a gift for making overlooked subjects irresistible. The bestselling author of more than thirty nonfiction books moves easily between natural history, social history, folklore, archaeology and craft.

(c) Ryedale Folk Museum

Her latest books show just how far that curiosity travels. In The Secret World of Twilight: A Natural History of Dusk and Dawn, she explores the creatures, traditions and human experiences shaped by the hours between day and night:

“One of the most ridiculous pieces of folklore about bats was that women shouldn’t go out at dusk or they would almost certainly get a bat tangled in their hair. In fact, bats were said to be so attracted to female hair in twilight that they would get lethally ensnared and the only way to remove them was to have all one’s tresses cut off. No doubt designed to control women from venturing out in the evenings, the folklore proved so influential that it was still bandied around in the 1950s. Rather tired of the rumour, the eminent conservationist Gathorne Gathorne-Hardy, who also happened to be the Earl of Cranbrook, performed a wonderfully eccentric experiment. Writing about it later in the ‘Notes & Observations’ section of The Transactions of the Suffolk Naturalists’ Society, he cheerfully recorded:

A newly caught pipistrelle […] struggling, squeaking and biting, was pushed into the fairly long curly hair at the back of the head of a brunette in the middle 30’s. The bat climbed with care up onto the crown of the victim’s head and took flight without getting entangled in any way. Suffolk Naturalists can take a vicarious pride in the fact that three Suffolk women have been found […] ready to test the truth of a hoary superstition.

In fact, Gathorne-Hardy managed to find four more species of bats to stuff into women’s hair – a noctule, a long-eared, a natterer’s and a daubenton’s – and, needless to say, every time the experiment was repeated the bats had no difficulty navigating the volunteers’ heads and took flight without issue.”

From The Secret World of Twilight: A Natural History of Dusk and Dawn, Sally Coulthard.

Back in 2020, after reading several of her books in Russia (that's where I'm originally from), I told the subscribers of my blog that it seemed a new star of popular non-fiction had emerged in Britain. How wrong I was, though! Don't get me wrong, Sally really is an incredibly talented writer, but I simply didn’t realise that she’d been on the scene for quite some time. In that post, I made a point of noting that, despite her enviable output, she manage to maintain a high standard of quality. I’m usually quite critical of books, which is why I very rarely give ratings on Goodreads. But she’s impressed me, especially when compared to other prolific non-fiction writers: as soon as they start ‘churning out’ books, the quality regrettably plummets. The most striking and disheartening example of this is Mark Kurlansky, who, in the late 1990s and early 2000s, with his Cod and Salt, practically sparked a trend for reading non-fiction in general and micro-histories in particular.

Amongst the commendable features of her writing style, I have noted the strikingly limited and always appropriate amount of ‘I’ present, which stands in stark contrast to the endless exposure to the private lives of her fellow authors. (Presumably, that’s what they’re taught on creative writing courses.) In this regard, I felt it would be appropriate to ask her a few questions that would allow us to get to know her better as a writer. Of course it was also curious to learn about her writing process, and I had some questions about two of her most recent books that I had a pleasure to read in 2026. Sally responded to my questions by email; her answers appear below in bold:

Judging by your new book, ‘A Brief History of the Coast in 100 Objects’, it’s clear that you’re genuinely fascinated by ‘prehistoric’ times and people: you have a knack for unearthing compelling stories and artefacts and describing them in a captivating way. Not everyone is capable of this – far more often, readers are presented with artefacts from more ‘hyped-up’ eras (the Middle Ages, for example) or even from the relatively recent past. Indeed, even from the recent past, not everyone would choose such a remarkable object as a caul! I put this down to your university studies on the Master’s programme in Archaeology and Anthropology. Why did you decide to enroll in it, what was the topic of your dissertation, and why did you leave academia?

I took my undergraduate degree in Arch/Anth at Oxford, back in 94-97, which – in the only way that Oxbridge can still get away with - automatically gives you an MA rather than a BA.  That said, it was rigorous, fascinating and completely life-changing for a girl from a Leeds comprehensive school background.  My eyes were opened to a whole new world of learning, culture and people.  It was a fabulous three-year fever dream.  I’d have loved to have stayed and done some kind of post-grad research – my academic tutor Prof Barry Cunliffe was an incredibly inspiring and personable man – but my friends were all leaving to get jobs in London and I felt Oxford might not be the same without them.  In the end, I’m glad I did but I would love to go back and do a PhD at some stage.  Oxford has a kind of timeless magic to it.  

How long did the research and writing of A Brief History of the Coast in 100 Objects take, roughly? Which of your books took up the most ‘pure time’, so to speak?

I’m usually given about 9 months to write a big book like Coast.  It sounds a lot but, given the amount of research involved, it means I’m at my desk writing full-time.  Some books come easier than others.  The hardest one, so far, was a book about the natural history of twilight.  So little has been written about it by the scientific or academic world (there are lots of literature/poetry/religious texts however) and I also spent a long time teaching myself the science of light, weather, circadian rhythms etc.  It was really challenging at times but I figured, if it’s hard work it probably means it’s worth doing.  And I loved the end result; it’s a book I’m really proud of.

As part of your work on the book, do you visit museums – including small, niche ones – as well as libraries?

Small museums are often the most fascinating and stuff is often displayed in an accessible and slightly eccentric way.  We’ve got some crackers up here in Yorkshire – Whitby Museum, for example, with its fabulously odd folklore objects – but I’ve been to dozens over the years.  The Pitt Rivers in Oxford is a favourite, as is the Huntarian surgery museum in London – both full of delightfully gruesome or exotic things. Just came back from Corbridge Roman museum recently – it’s like a mini-Pompeii, just as interesting, and with hardly anyone there.  As a child, I was taken to plenty of industrial museums.  They’re wonderful places – full of steam engines, machinery, clatter and gritty history. 

In one of your interviews, you mentioned that:

I often put a lot of thought into the cover, the texture of the paper and the illustrations in my books, and that’s largely lost when you buy online. Nothing beats browsing in person – that’s where the happy accidents happen.

I must say that both the covers and — importantly in bookshops — the spines of your books really catch the eye. It’s clear that a lot of thought has gone into them. And to what extent are you involved in the book-making process (apart from the text and the cover design)?

I’m deeply involved in the process.  I’m a very creative person and have a strong sense of what I want a book to look and feel like.  Many of my projects commission British illustrators – it’s important to support the immense talent we have in this country.  The cover is the first thing people see and can kill a book stone dead if it’s wrong. Editors and I coo over the tiny details – the embossing, the sprayed edges, the end papers, the weight of the paper and so on – but it’s always a financial compromise, because the book can’t be too expensive to produce.  I’m lucky to work with publishers who love good design, however, so I’ve been spoiled over the years.  Only last week, my editor at Bloomsbury and I were tweaking the spine design for the paperback edition of The Apple: A Delicious History.  Every detail matters.

If my memory serves me correctly, your books haven’t yet been translated into Russian (apart from a rather hard-to-find parenting advice book titled ‘The Parents’ Book of Checklists: From Toddlers to Teenagers’). Which countries’ editions of your books have you particularly liked? I’m asking partly because, when I was studying on the Publishing programme in Manchester, I was struck by a guest speaker who claimed that they were teaching Vietnamese people how to design book covers – as if the Vietnamese ones were really bad. Yet just a few months earlier, I’d been to a Vietnamese bookshop and was completely blown away by just how brilliant (and conceptually excellent) the covers of classic Western works of fiction were there.

I have been so lucky over the years and had some amazing foreign co-eds.  To date, I think there’s been Chinese, German, Dutch, Estonian, Korean, Czech, Turkish, US, Australian, Taiwanese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Spanish, Italian, Polish, French but my proudest one must be Mongolian.  My title A Short History of the World According to Sheep sold in lots of different languages and, of course, Mongolia is a huge sheep rearing nation.  I love the idea that Mongolian shepherds might be reading my book in their beautiful yurts.  You’re right though – there is a different aesthetic to each country’s book covers.  I love seeing how different countries interpret their own version.

 Some of the Vietnamese book covers I snapped in a Saigon book shop in 2023.

Dutch, German, Estonian, Chinese and Taiwanese editions of Coulthard's books.

The range of subjects and areas covered by your books is truly vast: all manner of animals (earthworms, barn owls, sheep, chickens, bees), plants (apples), buildings (sheds, barns), superstitions and folklore, snow, entire compendiums (‘coast’ and ‘countryside’, each featuring 100 objects) and a whole host of other things. Were there any topics that publishers were reluctant to publish?

Ha ha – one day I’ll show you a list of all the ideas that didn’t make it.  In reality, I probably pitch about three for every idea that gets picked up.  Development is just part of being a writer and, to be honest, it’s good discipline to create a comprehensive plan of a book before you write it.  Sometimes, I’ll have an idea, write a proposal, and then decide I can’t face writing the whole thing, so don’t submit it.  At other times, publishers have liked an idea but I’ve gone off it in the meanwhile.  If publishers don’t like a proposal, it’s usually not the topic but the approach.  And that’s always fixable.  My sheep book, for example, was originally going to be only about craft and textiles.  But then Bloomsbury suggested it should be opened up to include landscape, politics, science, language and so on, and it’s a much more satisfying book as a result.

I suspect that Editorial Director Jon de Peyer particularly values both your creative versatility and your talent as a writer. Are you now an author with HarperNorth? I’m asking because your books were previously published by a different publisher.

I’m currently with a few publishers – I don’t like to have all my eggs in one basket.  So, for the moment, I’m with Harper North, Bloomsbury and Penguin Random House.  I write different kinds of books for each publisher, however, so there’s room for everyone.  The only challenge is making sure each book comes out well spaced from another. 

You demonstrate an encyclopaedic understanding of Yorkshire’s natural world — do you read the books in The New Naturalist series? I’m sure you’d be perfectly capable of writing a volume on it for that series.

I know the series well – they’re classics, even the modern ones.  I found Kenneth Mellanby’s The Mole in a Malton junk shop the other day.  The cover artwork is so stylish – so Seventies and original – and they’ve had some great writers over the years.  

I really liked your words—your recipe for a successful non-fiction book:

‘People, nature and history. When you bring these three topics together, magic happens.’

What if there were a topic or subject area that was radically different from anything you’ve written about before, one you’d like to delve into and write about? What if it were trains – a favourite non-fiction subgenre in Britain? Or tractors, for that matter))

I’d love to write a cheerful book about death.  It’s a fascinating subject, both historically and anthropologically, and I’d love to explore how people treated the subjects of death, burial and the afterlife throughout human history.  No publisher would want that at the moment, however.  I think there’s a feeling that everyone just wants cheering up.

(c) Adrift Visuals  

You live in the Yorkshire countryside, where you have a whole farm, a husband and children. It’s clear that, on the one hand, all this serves as a source of inspiration for your books – a city dweller would hardly think of writing a book about sheep or barns – but on the other hand, how does this affect your writing? How do you manage to find time for writing and research in libraries? And at what time of day are you most productive as a writer?

I write from home.  Almost exclusively.  There just isn’t the time, in a tight book schedule, to do lots of deep, meandering research at libraries.  I’m afraid I bring some Yorkshire no-nonsense efficiency to the whole thing and stick to tight deadlines and to-do lists.  Mornings are most productive, in terms of fresh ideas, but I always do a full day’s writing.  I think authors sometimes feel like a deadline is a suggestion rather than a fixed point but I don’t view it that way.   The farm and the writing fit beautifully together – each informs the other and provides relief from the other.  If I’m stuck with a book, I’ll go and see the sheep.  Or do something practical around the farm.  It’s an instant reset.

What will your next book be about, and when can we expect it?

So, brace yourself for more.  I’ve got a book about mushroom folklore coming out this Autumn – Fungi Lore (Penguin).  I’ve then got a Christmas in the countryside book I’m currently writing for Bloomsbury, which will be out Nov 27 – that’s a new challenge for me because I’m tackling dialogue for the first time.  And, the most exciting news – this week I’ve just signed to do a big new book about the history of farming, also for Bloomsbury for 2028.  Should be an exhilarating, and thought-provoking, few years.

Do your children ever ask you to write about something? Do any of them want to become a writer too?

My three girls have read a few of my books.  My eldest has just graduated from Cambridge in History, so she loves anything historical or archaeological I write.  My middle daughter enjoys the folklore and superstition side of my writing.  And my youngest shares my passion for nature, so we talk a lot about the wildlife in my books.  I love how young children see the world – I try to carry some of that wide-eyed fascination with me at all times.  None has expressed an interest in being writers so far, however.  They’ll plough their own furrows.

I know you’re keen on endangered crafts. Could you suggest a few particularly interesting (or vulnerable) crafts from the North of England (especially Yorkshire and Lancashire)? I’d be happy to support them financially – everyone needs authentic gifts and souvenirs.

Rather than suggest a vulnerable craft – many of which are building techniques or rather esoteric trades like glass eye making or linen beetling – I would suggest a broader shift in thinking. It is difficult to resist the pull of cheap products but I try, whenever I can, to pick things I know are made by a real person, who’s paid properly for their skill, and preferably someone not too far away.  So, whether that’s a rug, a candle, a cushion, a basket, a knife – I want to see evidence of a person, and their humanity, in the things I own.  Mass manufacturing aims to hide the human input; craft reveals it. 

The World Cup has just finished, so I can’t help but ask – are you interested in sport, and if so, which team do you support?

I briefly played football for Keble College women’s team but, to be honest, it was more for the post-match festivities.  I enjoy sport – especially watching my youngest play cricket – but my competitiveness has faded since having kids.  Now I just feel sorry for the team or person that loses…

(c) Sally Coulthard

We’d like to finish off by asking questions about your reading preferences. I’ve seen that you’ve already answered some questions, such as the first books that made an impression on you (they were the Judy Blume books), but we’ve got a few more up our sleeves:

1.    The book I am currently reading?

The Illustrated Dust Jacket 1920-1970 by Martin Salisbury.  It’s a luxuriously illustrated stroll through mid-century book covers and is completely glorious.

2.    The book that changed my life or had the greatest influence on me? 

The Bog Man and the Archaeology of People by Don Brothwell (1987).  A gruesome and fascinating book about the archaeology of corpses, especially those found in peat bogs.  Someone gave me it as a young teenager and I poured over the gory details, but also found myself interested in the science, detective stories and history of it all.  It was the book that set me on the path to read archaeology.

3.    What’s the last great book I read?

Difficult Women: A History of Feminism in 11 Fights by Helen Lewis.  It’s the kind of writing I aspire to – razor sharp research, learning worn lightly, and history told in a way that says ‘this is fascinating, follow me!’ – like a Pied Piper.

4.    What’s the most interesting thing I learned from a book recently?

It’s a new word.  Whickering.  It’s the noise a horse makes when it likes you – a friendly whinny.  And, it’s also the noise baby badger cubs make.  I also think it sounds like a cosy-crime village in the Cotwolds. God, I love the English language.

5.    Which subjects do I wish more authors would write about?

Don’t know.  But I can tell you there are plenty of subjects I wish people didn’t write so much about. 

6.    The book I think is most underrated?

Mushrooms by Roger Phillips.  It’s now a naturalists classic but, when I bought a copy as a child and took it to show-and-tell, I was laughed out of the classroom.  I don’t think 1970s Leeds was quite ready for a fungi-loving six-year-old and her glossy, magnificent mushroom guide.

7.    The book I’m ashamed not to have read?

None.  Life’s too short for shame.  Read what you like.

8. The book I give as a gift (not written by me)?

I’ve given The Book of Eggs by Mark E. Hauber to a few people.  It isn’t a coffee table book, it’s so chunky and heavy it could be a coffee table.  And it’s filled to the brim with the most exquisite pictures of speckly birds’ eggs.  I like Nests by Susan Ogilvy too.  I’m starting to wonder whether I wasn’t a tree sparrow in a past life...

(c) Sally Coulthard

P.S. Object 88. WINSTON CHURCHILL'S CAUL (1914)

«During pregnancy, a baby grows inside an amniotic sac or 'caul", filled with fluid. Usually, when a baby is delivered, this membrane, along with the placenta, is expelled after the birth. But, in very rare instances, a baby can emerge with the amniotic sac still attached. These 'caul births' - which happen only once in every 80,000 deliveries - were considered extremely lucky and thought to confer special powers to the baby. The cauls themselves were valuable, especially those that were largely intact or, even better, from twins. […] London sellers [in 1878] were asking around £3 for their own children's cauls - around £400 in today's money - while the lucky owner of the 'full-size double male caul could confidently hope to achieve her £7 price tag, more than twice the money asked for a single.

People kept cauls as amulets. Cauls were lucky, not only because they were rare, but because they were thought to protect their owners from drowning.[…]Selling the caul transferred its power to the buyer. 

The coast's working men were particularly keen to get their hands on a caul. During the First World War, Germany used submarines to lethal effect; first against allied warships but, as the war progressed, merchant ships too. Nervous sailors, fishermen and their loved ones clamoured to buy these lucky amulets and the price of cauls skyrocketed. […]

This object is a particularly special caul. It is thought to have been posted, by Winston Churchill, to Philip J. Cleife in Portsmouth, a man who had spent two decades in the Royal Navy.

Winston Churchill's caul. Ill. from ‘A Brief History of the Coast in 100 Objects’.

The letter is dated 1914, when Churchill was serving as First Lord of the Admiralty. Why Churchill would send a lucky caul isn't known, but it's fascinating to know that the object was treasured by Cleife, who later passed the caul on to his own grandson when he, too, went to sea.»

From ‘A Brief History of the Coast in 100 Objects’