For Chris Litle and Angie Cox
I have been a writer all my life. When I’m not scribbling with ink on paper, I’m bashing away at my computer, editing, checking and rewriting. Or I’m gardening, cleaning, housekeeping or pushing my trolley around the Woodstock shops. My hands bear the brunt.
Carpal Tunnel Syndrome can strike with an almighty vengeance. The muscle in the wrist thickens and hardens, preventing blood from flowing into the hand and fingers. I have been rescued twice by Chris Little at The Manor Hospital in Oxford. Without his unique experience and skill, I’d have retired to a cottage in Cornwall three ago and put my feet – and my hands – permanently up.
On Returning Home from London
The arrival of Covid halted my plans to travel anywhere, let alone from Woodstock to London by train: a journey I used to love, both for business and pleasure. When freedom returned, my courage failed to follow suit. For several more years I went nowhere.
But I decided to return to my beloved London optician and now by private taxi. The noise of early-morning rush-hour traffic, the speed, the hold-ups, the density of vehicles came as an almighty shock. I’d forgotten how travel has become a modern obsession. Why are so many of us never happy unless we are travelling somewhere – and then trying to get home?
For Gillian Morris
Woodstock used to have its own library. It wasn’t huge but it was wonderful. It had chairs and tables as well as books. A section specially for children, where parents could come on Saturday mornings to talk and take their pick.
Where daily newspapers could be poured over. Where the latest top-selling novel arrived if you asked for it. Where a hundred questions could be whispered – and answered with confidence and flair.
The library was demolished several years ago. Its death is an outrage in a town that boasts two thriving bookshops, The Woodstock Bookshop and Save the Children, and a population longing for its proper return in a space large enough to sit, breathe, think and learn in comfort and under decent lights.
Here is my tribute to a top Librarian, now sadly retired, who deserves a medal for her services to Woodstock readers.
For Steve Cole
Steve Cole has sold more than three million copies of his books for children. He writes science fiction, adventure stories, comedy and graphic novels, is a devoted schools’ visitor and has inspired thousands of young readers with his energy and enthusiasm.
His latest novel, The Wild Ones, published by Scholastic, is already a palpable hit with Waterstones.
Here is my own story about his early days as an Editor.
In Time of War
I wrote this poem just after the Third World War under Donald J Trump had begun. Sickened and appalled by watching the nightly terrors of news bulletins on TV, I resolved to go out of my way to find beauty in the ordinary things of life, to make the ordinary extraordinary, which every good novelist must either do or die trying.
Hymn to Wytham Woods
I was given a permit to walk in Wytham Woods in 1976, when I was invited to rejoin Oxford University Press to work as an Editor in the centre of Oxford. The Woods immediately became my refuge and extraordinary retreat from the world of unforgiving words, fascist viewpoints and the harsh processes of publishing.
Here is my tribute to them and theirs, fifty years on.
For Phoebe Mendes
As a school girl, I read Belle of the Ballet every week and longed to be a ballerina when I grew up. Phoebe Mendes will be nine in September. She is tall and slim with honey-blonde hair and sophisticated tastes for sushi and peppermint tea, and we share a passion for dancing. She lit up my small living room on a recent visit. Now every time I go into the room I remember her filling it with her glorious carefree youthful joy.
In Our Churchyard Garden
When I first arrived in Woodstock 50 years ago, I made straight for the Church. Inside, there are five plain windows, devoid of story or colour.
I resolved to earn enough as a writer to fund the commission of the most beautiful stained glass. Every time I go to Church, my resolution is reaffirmed. It’s not too late, I tell myself. Just write another novel. As I leave, I walk through the churchyard garden, proud of its extraordinary beauty, whatever the season and however long the grass.
For Dilip Sarkar MBE
When I started writing my sequel to Larkswood I underestimated the scale and the depth of the project. Dilip’s instant help became my prop and inspiration. In a few sentences he would reassure me, comfort and help … and above all make me laugh. He is not only a supremely good author, but one of the most generous men I have ever met. When it comes to a formal dedication, it has to be only to him.
For Sam Mendes
I joined North London Collegiate School when I was six years old and left when I was eighteen. It was also my haven and sanctuary. I vowed when I left that I’d never go back unless they asked me to. Well, now they have. It will be an honour to talk to them on the evening of Tuesday 4 May 2027 and to see how this distinguished School has not only grown and changed, but came top in the recent Sunday Times review.
on launching VMBooks in 2020
I’ve always been a walker, trudging miles to and from School as a child and as an adult in London longing for green spaces. Moving to Woodstock in 1976 deliberately brought me close to Blenheim’s extraordinary landscaped gardens, where every Sunday, come rain or shine, I’d walk and admire. I little thought the walk I made one dawn in 2020 would have so many significant memories for me six years later.
For Andrew Gasson
Short-sighted from childhood, I wore contact lenses for more than sixty years. Now, thanks to Zacks brilliant new eye clinic in London, I have abandoned them in favour of three pairs of modern spectacles. The new examination machines are staggeringly complex and useful, diagnosing and solving problems before they become real trouble.