Unfortunately I can’t be sure of the exact date: probably April 2015, possibly earlier. I wasn’t in great shape. I was widowed, my job at the university was under threat and my new relationship with an Italian woman had come to an end.
I heard of a Creative Writing class that was starting just up the hill, about two minutes from my house. I’d already dabbled in a few Creative Writing exercises, mainly from Ursula Le Guin’s wonderful book, Steering the Craft. But a class! What had I got to lose?
And so I met Angela Platt. The first thing I noticed was that she was a wonderful teacher. She had what you might call ‘natural authority’. She knew what she was talking about and she was happy to share her knowledge with other people. She listened and always tried to tailor her comments to the needs of the student.
When I read out my first piece of public Creative Writing, she frowned slightly, thought for a moment and then said:
‘Those are very well-balanced sentences.’
Quite honestly, that puzzled me. But I wanted to hear more from her.
We saw each other quite regularly for the next five years. She always encouraged me. After a while, I could see that I wasn’t quite the right student for her. Angela passionately wanted to help women to write. I understand this, I’m not complaining. Also, as far as I know, Angela only wrote poetry, and seemed a little baffled by my commitment to long prose pieces. But we seemed to get the measure of each other. I admired this strong, gentle woman who’d stand up tall in dark crowded rooms and dazzle us with a stream of lyrical words. She had a quiet confidence that one day I’d get a novel published.
March 2020. I knew Angela had been unwell for some time. She complained of sciatica and of the after-effects of the painkillers she had to take. Often she looked tired. But, just as Covid and lockdown transformed our lives, I was horrified to hear that she had inoperable cancer and didn’t have long to live.
I felt I had to do something. A public celebration of her work was impossible under the conditions of lockdown. So I arranged a virtual meeting: a booklet. John Crerar, who lived nearby, helped. I invited everyone who knew Angela to write something: a thank you or a goodbye. Some people were reluctant, but most could see the point. Nineteen people contributed, offering memories of Angela, poems and photos. John and I got one copy printed and I presented this to Angela. (Later I learnt that she was touched by it.)
We spoke briefly. Angela assured me that she was sure I’d get a novel published one day. I told her that, if so, I’d dedicate it to her.
I kept my word.
To find out more about Angela, go to: https://www.angelaplattpoet.com/
Sharif Gemie, 16 April 2024
