A Genuine Celebration
The Celebration of Diana Wynne Jones took place in Bristol today, just over a year after we lost her. It was a powerful, moving and entertaining event, with just enough oddity to be just right for Diana - like the “half of Pepsi” first served as a pint, then split between two glasses, then with another “half” added to it to make the biggest pint I’ve ever seen - about one and a third by my guesstimate. Several times today people turned to each other to comment how much Diana would have enjoyed something - and how it would have ended up in one of her stories.
I wish.
I arrived in the general vicinity of St George’s and parked, by sheer chance, next to a carful of other fans. We were reminded once more that Bristol is the closest thing to a vertical city we have in this country but, although some of our party detoured via a bookshop, we found our way to the pub where a significant number of people were already ensconced. The bar staff seemed to have been trained to a very high standard in Confusion, but we were eventually fed and watered.
A large posse set off to St George’s, a rather splendid colonnaded church on a particularly steep bit of Bristol. My little group followed through the rain which was very fickle, alternating between intense and absent, with every possible stage in between.
At St George’s there was time to mingle a bit before the main purpose of the day started. An impressive number of people talked about Diana. They managed to hold back the tears and spoke very movingly and entertainingly about her. I took notes - inevitably partial. This is my attempt to recreate something of the flavour of the afternoon.
All three of Diana’s sons were there to introduce speakers and share their own cherished memories.
We started with Nick Tucker, who had been with DWJ in their childhood when they were evacuated to Lanehead during the war. He read us a letter from Diana, reminiscing about those days and punctuated with his own observations. Later, he told us, it became an Outward Bound centre for disturbed children, something he implied was simply continuing a tradition! He mentioned a Czech refugee called Anton, who saved his life in a boating incident, but was also the first person to introduce to Diana the concept there were things she could not do, as she was “only a girl.” The boat they played in, a “lethal old tub”, was not at all like Swallow or Amazon, though the house was where the inspiration for the children of Swallows and Amazons stayed. Indeed, he remembered a visit from a furious Arthur Ransome, complaining bitterly about the noise the children, including Diana, made, which was disturbing his writing - about noisy and active children.
Then came Isobel, Diana’s sister, talking in a very personal way about Diana’s astonishing deep blue eyes, and her instinctive ability to bond with children, rampaging with them and sarcastic in the extreme about the sort of sentimental piety too often presented in her youth as appropriate for the young. Apparently as children they had a shelf of “Goddy books” - the sort of sickly, pious books published in the early 1900s as suitable to influence the morals of the young. Diana was the ringleader of family games as children, with a particular talent for naming things and places - she was “the principal namer and leader of exploits and adventures.” She also described vividly Diana’s mode of writing, curled up in her favourite chair, feet tucked under her, with her packet of Woodbines and jug of lethally strong coffee to hand.
One delightful anecdote showed how very Diana-like she was even at the age of eight, when she masterminded a full-scale village fete without any reference to their parents. She was, Isobel said, a visionary writer, of course, but also an iconoclast, and she ended with a wonderful example. Taken to a very posh restaurant by her parents, she was given “Soupe Célestine”, a clear soup with pasta strands in it. Diana examined her portion, then announced “I assume these are Celestine’s guts”
Diana’s son, Richard, read us the eulogy he gave at her funeral. He stressed how the real core of her was evident in her books, especially in Dalemark, The Homeward Bounders and Fire and Hemlock. He suggested that The Homeward Bounders was the most tragic and honest of her books, with the traveller who literally creates worlds for others but can never find a home for himself.
He talked about the joy of listening to her read aloud to the three boys when they were small, and his own enjoyment reading all her books to his dyslexic daughter, with a copy each so she could follow but not have to struggle with the books, and how he was certain Diana imagined her own books as being read aloud.
Her favourite authors were Charles Dickens and Georgette Heyer. He felt that many people talk about her novels as “comfort books”, a role they were particularly suited for.
After him came his brother Colin, the youngest of the boys. He returned to the dominant image so many of her friends had of her, curled up in her chair, “pen in one hand, a cigarette in another, coffee in another, stroking the cat with another!” He felt she put a lot of herself and her own experiences into her stories, though he did admit probably no-one else would be able to describe how it felt to a griffin to be examined by a doctor! Things she loved came out “glorified”, but so did things she hated. “I’ll put her in a book!” was a threat she might make referring to a recalcitrant shop assistant. Chair Person really was about a guest (now passed on) who stayed far too long, and was very badly upholstered. The Four Grannies, he said, was a record of a terrible Christmas when both of his grandmothers stayed.
Diana believed herself to be an unwanted daughter, and many of her chilling matriarch figures are versions of her mother, from Aunt Maria to the last days of Gammer Pinhoe. These were books “from the lonely to the lonely”, he said, but he also remembered how a 10p pony ride he had loved at a village fete near their Berkshire cottage became transmuted into Cat’s extraordinary bond with Syracuse. On the other hand, the village fete in Enchanted Glass is also a portrait of the West Ilsley fete of the 70s, with all the petty rivalries and vindictive antagonisms intact.
Then Laura Cecil, Diana’s agent spoke, recalling how she had instantly loved Diana’s mixture of fantasy and humour, the undermining of the clichés so common in books for children at the start of Diana’s writing career. They had bonded instantly, both liking the same writers, especially E Nesbit, and she detailed some of the inspirations for early books - Diana’s intense irritation at a smug article about two families post-divorce living together in perfect harmony became the sheer gold of The Ogre Downstairs. (As an aside she also mentioned a time when Diana put a pair of her husband’s shoes in the oven instead of a casserole!)
She learned early on that it was important not to talk about any work in progress until it was at least at second draft stage, as it could kill the inspiration, and that Diana wrote her first drafts in longhand but, in order to maintain spontaneity often left the endings incomplete until she was transferring the stories to typescript. Her self-editing was meticulous, her writing accurate - but she intensely resented the attempts of her early editors to force her to tie up loose ends neatly. The editor of The Ogre Downstairs obsessed about the fate of two pink footballs, for example, and this became a shared code ever after for nitpicking fussing about inessentials.
It's midnight - I will write up the rest in the morning, for those lovers of Diana who may be interested.
I wish.
I arrived in the general vicinity of St George’s and parked, by sheer chance, next to a carful of other fans. We were reminded once more that Bristol is the closest thing to a vertical city we have in this country but, although some of our party detoured via a bookshop, we found our way to the pub where a significant number of people were already ensconced. The bar staff seemed to have been trained to a very high standard in Confusion, but we were eventually fed and watered.
A large posse set off to St George’s, a rather splendid colonnaded church on a particularly steep bit of Bristol. My little group followed through the rain which was very fickle, alternating between intense and absent, with every possible stage in between.
At St George’s there was time to mingle a bit before the main purpose of the day started. An impressive number of people talked about Diana. They managed to hold back the tears and spoke very movingly and entertainingly about her. I took notes - inevitably partial. This is my attempt to recreate something of the flavour of the afternoon.
All three of Diana’s sons were there to introduce speakers and share their own cherished memories.
We started with Nick Tucker, who had been with DWJ in their childhood when they were evacuated to Lanehead during the war. He read us a letter from Diana, reminiscing about those days and punctuated with his own observations. Later, he told us, it became an Outward Bound centre for disturbed children, something he implied was simply continuing a tradition! He mentioned a Czech refugee called Anton, who saved his life in a boating incident, but was also the first person to introduce to Diana the concept there were things she could not do, as she was “only a girl.” The boat they played in, a “lethal old tub”, was not at all like Swallow or Amazon, though the house was where the inspiration for the children of Swallows and Amazons stayed. Indeed, he remembered a visit from a furious Arthur Ransome, complaining bitterly about the noise the children, including Diana, made, which was disturbing his writing - about noisy and active children.
Then came Isobel, Diana’s sister, talking in a very personal way about Diana’s astonishing deep blue eyes, and her instinctive ability to bond with children, rampaging with them and sarcastic in the extreme about the sort of sentimental piety too often presented in her youth as appropriate for the young. Apparently as children they had a shelf of “Goddy books” - the sort of sickly, pious books published in the early 1900s as suitable to influence the morals of the young. Diana was the ringleader of family games as children, with a particular talent for naming things and places - she was “the principal namer and leader of exploits and adventures.” She also described vividly Diana’s mode of writing, curled up in her favourite chair, feet tucked under her, with her packet of Woodbines and jug of lethally strong coffee to hand.
One delightful anecdote showed how very Diana-like she was even at the age of eight, when she masterminded a full-scale village fete without any reference to their parents. She was, Isobel said, a visionary writer, of course, but also an iconoclast, and she ended with a wonderful example. Taken to a very posh restaurant by her parents, she was given “Soupe Célestine”, a clear soup with pasta strands in it. Diana examined her portion, then announced “I assume these are Celestine’s guts”
Diana’s son, Richard, read us the eulogy he gave at her funeral. He stressed how the real core of her was evident in her books, especially in Dalemark, The Homeward Bounders and Fire and Hemlock. He suggested that The Homeward Bounders was the most tragic and honest of her books, with the traveller who literally creates worlds for others but can never find a home for himself.
He talked about the joy of listening to her read aloud to the three boys when they were small, and his own enjoyment reading all her books to his dyslexic daughter, with a copy each so she could follow but not have to struggle with the books, and how he was certain Diana imagined her own books as being read aloud.
Her favourite authors were Charles Dickens and Georgette Heyer. He felt that many people talk about her novels as “comfort books”, a role they were particularly suited for.
After him came his brother Colin, the youngest of the boys. He returned to the dominant image so many of her friends had of her, curled up in her chair, “pen in one hand, a cigarette in another, coffee in another, stroking the cat with another!” He felt she put a lot of herself and her own experiences into her stories, though he did admit probably no-one else would be able to describe how it felt to a griffin to be examined by a doctor! Things she loved came out “glorified”, but so did things she hated. “I’ll put her in a book!” was a threat she might make referring to a recalcitrant shop assistant. Chair Person really was about a guest (now passed on) who stayed far too long, and was very badly upholstered. The Four Grannies, he said, was a record of a terrible Christmas when both of his grandmothers stayed.
Diana believed herself to be an unwanted daughter, and many of her chilling matriarch figures are versions of her mother, from Aunt Maria to the last days of Gammer Pinhoe. These were books “from the lonely to the lonely”, he said, but he also remembered how a 10p pony ride he had loved at a village fete near their Berkshire cottage became transmuted into Cat’s extraordinary bond with Syracuse. On the other hand, the village fete in Enchanted Glass is also a portrait of the West Ilsley fete of the 70s, with all the petty rivalries and vindictive antagonisms intact.
Then Laura Cecil, Diana’s agent spoke, recalling how she had instantly loved Diana’s mixture of fantasy and humour, the undermining of the clichés so common in books for children at the start of Diana’s writing career. They had bonded instantly, both liking the same writers, especially E Nesbit, and she detailed some of the inspirations for early books - Diana’s intense irritation at a smug article about two families post-divorce living together in perfect harmony became the sheer gold of The Ogre Downstairs. (As an aside she also mentioned a time when Diana put a pair of her husband’s shoes in the oven instead of a casserole!)
She learned early on that it was important not to talk about any work in progress until it was at least at second draft stage, as it could kill the inspiration, and that Diana wrote her first drafts in longhand but, in order to maintain spontaneity often left the endings incomplete until she was transferring the stories to typescript. Her self-editing was meticulous, her writing accurate - but she intensely resented the attempts of her early editors to force her to tie up loose ends neatly. The editor of The Ogre Downstairs obsessed about the fate of two pink footballs, for example, and this became a shared code ever after for nitpicking fussing about inessentials.
It's midnight - I will write up the rest in the morning, for those lovers of Diana who may be interested.