I wonder how aware you are of the sounds produced by your letterbox, or perhaps more precisely by the landing of what has just come through the letterbox?  I generally work upstairs and when I hear the sound I may, or I may not, go downstairs to see what has landed. Sometimes there is a clattering thump as an unwanted catalogue trying to sell me ladies clothing lands. More often the sound is a little lighter with correspondence from some charity, finance institution or government body. But occasionally the sound is very light, more of a fluttering. This week I heard such a fluttering and peered downstairs to see a small white postcard on the mat. I scurried downstairs to take a closer look. On the front was what appeared to be a scribbled face of someone wearing a pair of glasses.  As I turned the card over and scanned the back I spotted the signature: Alan Bennett.  Oh my! You dear man!

This is the third time in my life I have had a postcard from Alan Bennett. For any reader who does not know who this person is I will take a moment to explain. Wiki describes him as an English actor, author, playwright and screenwriter who was born in Leeds and studied at Oxford. He became well known in the 1960s for his appearances in ‘Beyond the Fringe’ with Dudley Moore, Jonathan Miller and Peter Cook.  His films include ‘The Madness of King George', ‘The History Boys’ and ‘Lady in the Van’, all deriving from various stage productions.  His ‘Talking Heads’ monologues have been repeated on the BBC several times. He is a prolific writer, a wonderful observer of the ordinary and mundane and seems to have been a presence in my life since the late 1970s. I suppose as he comes from Leeds and I come from Bradford there feels to be some kind of shared  culture. When he describes the Yorkshire of his early years I recognise it and it makes me smile.  In fact it does much more than ‘make me smile’. He seems to describe something with which I am deeply familiar but by bringing it to my attention through his writing it then becomes either elevated or extremely comical.  I particularly recognise some of the older Yorkshire ladies he observes so acutely.  

Some years ago I set myself the challenge of learning one of his monologues: ‘A Lady of Letters’.  Irene, the lady in question, is a rather sad character who spends her time observing others and reporting their various misdemeanours to the ‘appropriate authority.’ In many ways she is imprisoned by her home and her lonely life, being ultimately liberated by being given a prison sentence!  I loved her.  Each night in bed I would learn a few more lines, repeating what I had already mastered and adding on the new. Before long, much to my surprise, I realised that I had learned the whole 30 minutes worth. I decided to perform it to an invited group of friends and raised a small sum for a local charity. It was something of a personal life high point.

I first wrote to him probably about thirty years ago. I can barely recall the reason but have a vague memory that it was as a consequence of a TV programme in which he described a group of Yorkshire ladies having tea at a ‘posh’ hotel in Harrogate. I wrote saying how much I enjoyed his work and within a few weeks received a handwritten postcard thanking me for writing.  

My second thank you letter must have been in 2004  after a visit to the National Theatre to see ‘The History Boys’. My husband and I had been bowled over by it and as people who spent much of their lives in ‘education’  found it contained many truths. 

"Pass the parcel. That's sometimes all you can do. Take it, feel it and pass it on. Not for me, not for you, but for someone, somewhere, one day. Pass it on boys. That's the game I want you to learn. Pass it on."

"The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. Now there it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours."

"History is a commentary on the various and continuing incapabilities of men. What is history? History is women following behind with the bucket."

Some weeks after writing, a postcard appeared on my mat with a picture of Malham in the Yorkshire Dales. Who did I know who might have been there on holiday? Who would send me a postcard from Malham? Alan Bennett!!  "Thank you so much" he wrote "for taking the time to write." He went on to describe the joy, fun and satisfaction they had had producing the play and  said the fact that it had been received so well was icing on the cake.

Then, earlier this year, I read in the paper that at the age of 86 he was now not well and had given up cycling. They said he "refuses to install a stairlift in his home for 'aesthetic reasons'."  I can well imagine!!  However, my heart went out to him and I wrote quite a long letter thanking him for his wonderful writing and wishing him well. I really did not expect any kind of reply. Nonetheless one arrived on the mat this week.

Thank you Alan Bennett, a friend I have never met, for enriching my life in so many ways.