William Golding by Robert W. Naish (BWS 1951 - 1959)

In my days at BWS Science VIth Formers underwent 'Cultural' Arts and Humanities sessions. Among these was Philosophy (those were the days of F. C. Happold) and it fell to William Golding to take one series of these classes which I attended. I have one brief, but telling, memory of the experience.

He was dealing with matters of religious experience, and included reference to his own attempts at using introspection as a means of locating one's place in the scheme of things. He had a good feel for drama, and when in the mood could employ this to create some sense of expectation, not to say suspense, and clearly this topic was of such significance to him as to bring out an unusual degree of commitment and frankness. We followed his painful tunnelling into the Golding Caverns; step by step towards some ultimate revelation. I can see him now leaning towards the blackboard, chalk in hand, wondering whether to bare his soul. He hesitated, considered the worthwhileness of the audience, but had over-committed himself and could not draw back. "When you have completely penetrated past the trappings of your personality, you are left with - A presence? A feeling? I can only describe it as a shape like this."

He drew a sideways pear-shape on the board, and we, the class, erupted into silent hysteria. He knew, and was embarrassed, and no doubt angry. I had a brief, and barely perceived insight into the man's innermost wish that he had kept his own counsel. This is an insight which has always come back to me when reading, or hearing his openly confessed gratitude at finding a release from school teaching. And quite rightly so; teaching must have been a cage to his sort of talent.

I saw Sir William at the Exeter motorway service area about a month before he died, and so wanted to speak to him, mainly to say how I'd enjoyed his books, but I wavered and the opportunity was lost. He disappeared inside and my colleague arrived to whisk me off to a job. Now it is too late and I regret that. Another opportunity allowed to slip away.




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