In a way this is a follow on from last month’s post, ‘My first literary grant’, which was about a primary school teacher giving me lots of free paper to write on when I was a poor but proud young novelist scribbler of nine. This month I want to honour another early champion of my literary efforts.
Chris was my stepfather’s best friend from university. We didn’t see him often as he lived in Derry, eighty miles away, but when we did, it was always a happy time. His daughters were much younger than us, but very amenable to being dragged about and played with, and he and his wife Irene were the best kind of grownup. Chris had studied English at university and always took an interest in my scribblings. We spent a weekend with them in 1979 and I spent much of the time writing, nothing unusual for me. I might have been using the very paper the teacher gave me.
A few years ago, at an event in Derry, I looked up to see him and Irene in the audience. They were not in great health, but they had made the effort to come and see how the passionate young scribbler had turned out. Seeing them that night, so proud of me, remains one of the highlights of my writing career. They still had the stories I had written that weekend, and carefully took them out to show me. A week later a photocopied version arrived for me in the post: even forty years on, Chris wasn’t going to part with the originals.
Chris and Irene were invited to my recent wedding, but weren't well enough to attend, and last week I went, with my parents, to Chris’s funeral. As always, you discover things about the deceased person you hadn’t known. In this case, I found out that Chris had been a keen poet. In fact, one of the artefacts adorning his coffin was a book of his poems, beautifully bound for him by his family. I hadn’t known he wrote, beyond the letters he regularly sent my stepfather. I had only known that he championed my writing. ‘He had all your books,’ Irene told me. I don’t know if he went out and bought them, or if John sent them to him as they were published.
Either way, it reminded me that that passionate young scribbler had a great deal to be grateful for. And she is.
4 comments:
Another lovely story, Sheena! You obviously inspired several people with your talent long before you actually became a published writer. So sorry he didn't make it to your wedding.
Thank you so much, Lynne. It felt the very obvious thing to write about this month, particularly as a sequel to last month's post!
Happy for you always !x
How lovely!
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