At Alan Sillitoe’s desk.
I have a few very happy memories of meeting Alan Sillitoe but one stands out in particular. It was in 2008 when he came up to the Broadway cinema for a conversation interview on stage before the screening of Saturday Night, Sunday Morning. I was sat in the lovely Paul Smith designed seats with Al Needham, desperate to ask him some questions in the small Q&A session that followed.
When the Q&A started an old man put his hand up and said ‘Excuse me Mr. Sillitoe, could I ask you a question? I was on holiday in Australia the other year and I found a book that had your name on it and I was wondering if it was also by you?’As the audience gasped at this calamitous faux pas, Sillitoe grinned away and politely asked him the title. The man produced the book, read it out, and sure enough it was one of his 66 books.
The man was absolutely delighted and waffled on some more about how he figured it might have been by him but wasn’t too sure how many books he’d written and how they came to be abroad. This took a good five minutes and just when we thought he had finally finished, he said ‘could I ask one more question?’ This time the audience’s frustration turned to laughter, accepting that this quite innocent man was oblivious to their desire to ask, shall we say, more pertinent questions.
Sillitoe obliged and the question followed. ‘Please would you sign the book?’ Sillitoe smiled, perhaps relieved at not being asked the usual questions he’d had to endure over the decades and said yes. Before he could explain that time had been allocated for this after the Q&A, the man began shuffling his way along the row of seats and made his way onto the stage. At this point everyone was in hysterics.
What I witnessed that day is something I wouldn’t have found out if Sillitoe had gone through the formalities. Here was an author who didn’t take himself too seriously, who had time for people, and could find humour where more egotistical authors would have become angry. I shouldn’t have been surprised really, particularly given that this is the same author who instructed his publishers not to enter him for any literary competitions.
As it turned out I was able to get a more in depth interview with Sillitoe which, according to the Independent, was his last. A strange honour in some respects but something I’d certainly have traded in to read his words for one more time.
It is for reasons such as this that myself and various other members of the Nottingham writing community have spent the last three months working tirelessly and for free to put on the Celebrating Alan Sillitoe day on the 2nd October at the Council House, which saw DJ Taylor, John Harvey, John Lucas, David Sillitoe and many others celebrate his vast and varied work. It was part of an ongoing project that is hoped will raise money for a statue to be built in Lenton.
We have other events lined up which include an Alan Sillitoe beer (the first of many about local celebrities by Castle Rock), a curry and talk night at the White Horse (to be given by different writers), a short story competition that sets Arthur Seaton in the present and a literary walk.
I’d hoped to blog about how we organised the event, problems we came across and general advice for others hoping to put on an event at such short notice but I’m absolutely knackered and so this entry signifies the end of a long but enjoyable process. Instead, I leave you with this interview with Alan’s humble and unassuming son, David.
For more on the event, please see the Sillitoe website
