Alan and my mother were friends in what they called their ‘bookshop days’, Alan working in (I think) Hatchard’s and my mother - then Theresa Perschky - at Foyle’s. Memories of 1950s London, of books and ideas and Soho and of being young, stayed with Tess for the rest of her long life. They kept in touch, and Alan’s name was spoken often with affection. A drawing and a wooden carving that Alan made were among Tess’s most treasured possessions. His letters even towards the end of his life were beautiful, full of detail and sharp observation, and always kindness.

Sadly I never met Alan in person, but I am glad and grateful to have known something of this lovely and loved man.