Wednesday 27 August 2008
Tuesday 26 August 2008
From Godfrey Smith
27 V 08
My dear Jane:
Even when we know the moment has to come, it’s impossible to imagine a world without Alan. I feel as if some enormous gusher of power, some inexplicable force of nature, had suddenly been turned off. Indeed, so strong was his imprint that I don’t really see him as gone at all: he’s still indelibly in my mind, and always will be. I remember those legendary days at Oxford, when he pedalled about the town with that famed beard already conjuring up the idea that some sage from outer space had arrived to shake us all out of our skulls. He was enormously articulate: the readiest man I ever met. He was one of those people who not only can spin a marvellous yarn, but was himself the source of endless anecdotes. All Oxford people think their own era was the best; but I think we knew it was. What luck we had! And then there were all those years in Fleet Street, when no gathering of great hacks was complete without Alan. I had the added good fortune to look after his copy during his spell as film critic of The Sunday Times; though to tell the truth, it seldom needed more than some par marks before it was sent to the printers. In retrospect, what an exhilarating team that was: Bernard Levin on theatre, Dennis Potter of television, Alan on cinema. But shake the kaleidoscope any way you like, during the half century in which he wrote like an avenging angel, Alan’s name glitters among all the rest - unmistakeable, irresistible, incomparable. And funny. Thank you, dear Jane, for all the loving care you gave the dear chap; it’s impossible to say much to help at some moments, but remember nothing can ever take away all those good times you had together, and all those memories. Let’s keep in touch. Warmest wishes.
Yours ever
Godfrey Smith
My dear Jane:
Even when we know the moment has to come, it’s impossible to imagine a world without Alan. I feel as if some enormous gusher of power, some inexplicable force of nature, had suddenly been turned off. Indeed, so strong was his imprint that I don’t really see him as gone at all: he’s still indelibly in my mind, and always will be. I remember those legendary days at Oxford, when he pedalled about the town with that famed beard already conjuring up the idea that some sage from outer space had arrived to shake us all out of our skulls. He was enormously articulate: the readiest man I ever met. He was one of those people who not only can spin a marvellous yarn, but was himself the source of endless anecdotes. All Oxford people think their own era was the best; but I think we knew it was. What luck we had! And then there were all those years in Fleet Street, when no gathering of great hacks was complete without Alan. I had the added good fortune to look after his copy during his spell as film critic of The Sunday Times; though to tell the truth, it seldom needed more than some par marks before it was sent to the printers. In retrospect, what an exhilarating team that was: Bernard Levin on theatre, Dennis Potter of television, Alan on cinema. But shake the kaleidoscope any way you like, during the half century in which he wrote like an avenging angel, Alan’s name glitters among all the rest - unmistakeable, irresistible, incomparable. And funny. Thank you, dear Jane, for all the loving care you gave the dear chap; it’s impossible to say much to help at some moments, but remember nothing can ever take away all those good times you had together, and all those memories. Let’s keep in touch. Warmest wishes.
Yours ever
Godfrey Smith
Saturday 16 August 2008
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret,
Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together."
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret,
Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together."
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