BookBrunch today posts the following story:

Remember When, the Pen & Sword imprint, publishes this month The Private Diaries of Alison Uttley 1932 to 1971. The diaries reveal a waspish character, who described Enid Blyton as a “vulgar, curled woman”, and Margaret Tempest, who illustrated Uttley’s Little Grey Rabbit, as “a humourless bore . . . absolutely awful”.

The book is edited by Professor Denis Judd, author of Uttley’s biography and a trustee of the author’s literary estate. He said: “Uttley’s competitive and passionate nature often clouded her judgement and drastically affected her private and professional life. Though she ended her life as a grande dame of literature, she was acclaimed but never entirely content.”

When I worked for Collins (the predecessor of HarperCollins) I was detailed to accompany Alison Uttley to the Children’s Book Fair at the Royal Horticultural Halls in Westminster. She was a sour little old woman, with no small talk, and I was clearly merely a minion.

But I was quite good at publicity, and I’d arranged for everyone attending the fair to be invited to COME AND MEET ALISON UTTLEY. At half hourly intervals the PA system hollered out ‘ALISON UTTLEY!! LITTLE GREY RABBIT AUTHOR!! HERE AT 12!!’

Teachers were whipping their charges into a state of frenzy. Me, I just wanted to sell some books.

We’d placed Uttley on a curtained daïs, and on the dot of 12 the curtain rose. A howling crowd of excited children stormed the stage.

As Uttley hadn’t bothered to listen to a word I’d told her, she was completely unprepared for this. Dimly she perceived an overwhelming mob running at her and with British pluck she unhesitatingly grabbed her duck-handled umbrella and waded into the attack, felling infants right and left.

The kiddies paused, briefly regrouped, then broke up and ran off, screaming in terror. Uttley strode among them, lashing out freely.

The Meet The Author session was abandoned, and I was asked to escort Miss Uttley out of the fair.

She was perplexed and indignant, and ready to ask some questions. But I had told her the answers before we arrived at the venue. She simply hadn’t cared to listen.

Could it happen nowadays? I doubt it. Mummy might complain if little Tarquin returned home with multiple scalp wounds.

It was a grand, grand sight though.

This post is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.