Yesterday I received the sad news that Anne Fielding had passed away. I knew Anne through Irwell Writers, where she was Secretary.
Anne grew up in Scotland. She often wrote about her childhood years, which were during and after the Second World War. She later went on to become a teacher. Her writing was very lucid and fluent. She often read out her anecdotes to Irwell Writers. Her enunciation was whiplash precise and I could well imagine that, were I a pupil, I’d be careful not to step out of line in her class. She wrote of school, family life and growing up by the Clyde shipyards, where her parents lived and her father worked. At least one of her stories was regarded well enough to be published in an anthology of memories from the war. It subsequently read out on radio. Writing was a big part of her life and it was a pleasure to hear her read.
Some time ago, I suggested she collect her pieces together to take to publication (via the magic that is Print on Demand). It was plain to me that her thoughts and memories need not be lost; all that was required was that the text be collated. I believe she was well advanced in this, however, over the past few months, her voice began to fade and her health deteriorated. Eventually she went into hospital (Wythenshawe). It was impractical for me to visit her there, although I would have loved to do so. Events have overtaken us and her pieces in the hands of others now.
Given the chance for one last conversation with Anne, I would find it necessary to scold her for bunking out before her project was entirely complete. In lieu of that, what does one do? I wrote the following:
Irwell Writers hold meetings at the Mosses Centre, Bury, weekly and monthly.