An excerpt from my diary of 1983 stated ‘Tonight I am to
meet Colin Wilson, one of my favourite authors.
Feel quietly excited at the prospect. I’m to meet him
at his ‘gentleman’s club’ at 5.00pm in St. Austell. It will be wonderful to meet a man who has in
many ways helped to shape my own ideas since I was twenty five years old.’
That year I was holidaying with my husband and two children
at Trevarrick in Cornwall . I had corresponded with Colin Wilson for
some years since reading his thorough and embracing work in Mysteries and The Occult. These were my favourite books at that time because I
was young, less cynical and into pondering life’s mysteries. Those two books in particular from his large
and interesting ouevre, opened my eyes to many other books, writers and ideas
and I can truly say that they helped shape my beliefs. Colin was just developing his Faculty X
theory which tuned in with many of my own explorations. I began to write to him and it was a period in
his own writing life when he was feeling a trifle beleaguered and put down by
press and critics. His sudden and
astonishing literary rise began way back in 1956 when he published his first
and perhaps most iconic book, The
Outsider in which he explored the feelings of those alienated from life and
society because of their genius or philosophical thoughts. This shot him to overnight
fame but almost as speedily the book suddenly seemed to lose its appeal and
critics clambered to back track on their first laudatory reviews as if they had
committed some crime in good taste. But this
insightful and intelligent book is still widely read to this day and for a
young self-educated man was a remarkable achievement at that time. For some inexplicable reason, it was at this
time that Colin Wilson earned himself the label of Angry Young Man, joining the
likes of the dramatist, John Braine, and others. Well, what a misnomer that turned out to be.
It took some time to find the ‘gentleman’s club’ which was
down a little alleyway close to an Income Tax office. As it happened St Austell boasted two income tax offices for some reason so
one person would direct me one way and then another passer by would point out
the opposite direction. I was almost
ready to despair but at last found the club.
The plump blonde barmaid assured me I was in the right place and when I
asked if Colin was there, a gentleman in a corner said he’d be there soon, he’d
just gone to Tesco’s to shop. My hero
shopped in Tesco’s; how mundane!
At last Colin’s young son Rowan arrived with Hetty his
grandma, a frail, small old lady. Colin
turned up at last wearing a light blue suit, a white hat and carrying an umbrella. He was tall and ungainly, an odd but
interesting looking person with a sweet, youthful, boyish face and cheerful
smile. His voice was cultured but with a
slight trace of the Leicester accent of his
youth. We had a wonderful conversation about philosophy and writing though it
was hard work competing with the very extravert and noisy company that gathered
about us. I was to find out that Colin
was always surrounded by a crowd! The
whole atmosphere was natural and free and we bandied around many subjects such
as sexuality, crime, no holds barred, no prudery. I wasn’t used to this even in the Eighties and
it felt so liberating and delightful. One of the interesting ideas Colin had
dreamt up was that a machine might be invented that could blend men and women
together in order to have the perfect sexual union. Still not too sure how this was meant to work
but I had consumed a great deal of Beaujolais
by then and it sounded rather fun. During
the conversation we tackled Kazantzakis, another of my favourite and
influential writers. Colin asked the
company for advice on a new novel in which a Polish sailor feigned illness in
order to get out of the navy. I wonder
if that novel ever got written?
Colin offered to drive me to where we were staying but I was
meeting the family and we were going to the pictures so he invited all of us
over to tea next day.
Colin’s home was hidden well away down the country lanes so
we had some trouble finding this as well but that’s Cornwall for you; a maze of lanes and twisting byways. But again, we found our way somehow and had a
splendid and welcoming day with the Wilson ’s. His youngest son whisked my own lad upstairs
to play at computer games while my daughter was regaled with cakes and
cherryade. We had several glasses of
wine and listened to Colin’s fascinating accounts of Jack Tregeagle who had to
empty Dozemary Pool with a cockleshell that had a hole in it and other amusing
tales; he is a great and entertaining raconteur. But, as a writer myself, it
was the visit to Colin’s glorious, untidy, wonderful den that thrilled me
most. The walls were literally lined
with books; in fact the whole house was lined with books, probably the loo
too! One shelf was filled with the books
he had written himself. He has a personal library that has grown over the years
and now occupies many sheds in the garden, much to his wife’s dismay. But what
a treasure trove! I hope he leaves all
the books to the nation.
Colin presented me with a part of an mss which I still
possess and liberally gave us many of his own books which he signed, plus two
rare books (of which he possessed two copies) which I had searched for over the
years in vain. I still have these books on my shelf in my own den. His generosity was truly wonderful and heart
warming.
