By Sujatha Subramanian, Published in The Sunday Standard, Oct 16 1966

“My ninth will be coming out in October,” said the lady in the grey dress who was sitting next to me in the dinner table. “Funnily enough,” she went on, smiling at me. “a part of it is set in India.”

Before I could recover from this, the gentlemen on my right started off on his latest, a technical book worded for the layman on how to invest wisely! This was how it went on all the time. For whole week, I heard nothing but talk of books and authors at Swanwick.

MOTLEY CREW

When I remarked on this to my friend, who has been a regular visitor to the place for four years, she replied “That is one of the reason why I like this place. One can talk shop all the time with people who understand one’s problems. It is rather bewildering at first. All those famous authors….”

The dining room of the beautiful old mansion. The Hayes, was packed. More than three hundred and fifty of them, some highly successful writers with over fifty books to their credit, some just tasting the sweetness of their first publication, many others aspiring to be writers, there were all kinds. It was a motley gathering with men and women of all ages from eighteen to eighty.

Problems of introduction were overcome by each member having to wear a badge with his or her name on it. But appearances are often very deceptive. A frail, innocuous-looking with white hat, who was sitting next to me at a lecture turned out to be the author of a series of children’s books, and later on during the week gave us all tips on how to stand up to the publishers!

Held every year for a week in August, the Writer’s Summer School has been organized to provide a meeting place for writers, where amidst congenial surroundings, they may give and receive hail and encouragement in the art of writing.

LECTURES

For this, the eighteen session, they has arranged lectures by eminent writers and critics and discussion groups on various aspects of writing ranging from children’s books, journalism, poetry, to radio plays and novels. Each member could attend any of the groups that might be of interest in his or her own sphere of writing. There were talks on how to find the most suitable markets, on publication rights, income-tax, in short, on anything even remotely concerning an author.

The host and hostess for this year’s conference were John Boland, the crime novelist and his charming wife Philippa. His League of Gentlemen has been made into a very successful film. They were first to greet me when I arrived at The Hayes. “How nice to see you here again.” He said with a warm smile. “And all the way from Bombay too, this time.”

Commencing every morning immediately after breakfast, the program was businesslike and crowded. There was Russell Brandon, the noted biographer, to tell us how he finally got down to writing the life-story of Lord Thompson, the Fleet Street magnate; Mary Howard to explain the concepts: Phyllis Hartnoll on translations.

Famous names there were many. Alex Stuart, the author of nearly a hundred romantic novels, the chairman of the session; Peter Dickinson of Punch; Harold Harris of Hutchinson; Anthony Buckeridge the creator of Jennings, the schoolboy hero; Winston Graham, the novelist, whose After the Act a book about an author, written in the stream of consciousness technique, is just out.

“I do not believe that anyone can be taught to write,” he began his talk and went on to say”- but one who can write well can be groomed to write better.”

IN THE EAST

Over tea on the lawns, the next evening, I met the vivacious sisters Aileen Burke and Leone Stuart. They have collaborated to write more than a hundred radio plays. “We have a special affection for the East.” said Leone, “for through the London theater guide, I found that their play ‘Instant Crime.’ a whodunit with lots of suspense was having a long run in London.

Speaking of the East,” said Alexander Cordell, another novelist who joined us, “no one can have a greater claim to it than I, for I was born in Ceylon!” He took a bite out of the fruit cake and went on. “I’m just back from Hongkong. What a terribly over-crowded and poverty-stricken place it was!”

“But, didn’t you enjoy the breathtaking view from the Peak. the glorious beach at Repulse Bay?” I interposed. ‘Yes, it is pretty at all right. But I am mainly interested in the people, the common man.” Replied Mr. Cordell, “and that is what I usually write about.”

“I was in India last year,” said soft-spoken Victoria Holt from the other end of the table. This petite, beautiful lady with a high plaited couture that framed her face could have stepped out of the pages of one of her historical novels.

BACKGROUND

 She looked so much unlike my idea of the author of the best-seller The Mistress of Mellyn that had sold millions of copies, and I had to confirm her identity twice before I could accept the fact. “I did manage to see the Taj though I wasn’t able to stay in your country very long. I shall probably go back again next year and see Bombay and Calcutta.”

 I could imagine her writing a book with the Taj as the background for her novels are usually set in atmosphere-laden castles with historic names “It is an awfully tiring and busy time,” confessed my friend on the last night. “My throat always goes bad on me after the week at Swanwick. But I wouldn’t miss it for all  the world.” She smiled happily. 

While we walked to the quietness of the reading room, I wondered how I can put into words the scintillating atmosphere of the place; the spirit of camaraderie between the well-established authors and the beginners; the feeling that for an entire week nothing existed but the art of writing.