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 A tribute Nottingham born acclaimed writer Alan Sillitoe by Carl Davis.

'the art of writing is to explain the complications of the human soul with the simplicity that can be universally understood'

I met Alan Sillitoe once. Not the most brilliant of anecdotes I know, but being born of Nottinghamshire stock it meant a lot to me. More so than any footballing hero or television celebrity that I have come across in my job. I live and breathe books as well as the book-selling paying the bills, and so the career of this small and slight English writer has had a profound impact. Even if you have never picked up a book in your life, a basic understanding of British cinema history is enough to let you know that 'Saturday Night and Sunday Morning' and 'The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner', based on his most famous novel and short story, scripted by him, are pivotal in the 'English New Wave' and important to everything that came after.

Alan was born in Nottingham, and his father worked at the local Raleigh bikes factory. After leaving school at 14 so did he for a while. So did Arthur Seaton, the central character in 'Saturday Night and Sunday Morning', a perfect example of his realism and of how he drew inspiration from his own life. A product of his time and national service, he served in the R.A.F. and was posted to Malaya but contracted tuberculosis, and after returning home quickly left for France and Spain in order to recover. In Mallorca, he came into contact with Robert Graves, author of the seminal 'Goodbye To All That', and he began work on 'Saturday Night and Sunday Morning'. Despite his travels it seems Nottingham coursed through his veins physically and literately.

Arthur Seaton is the 'Angry Young Man' writ large. Mindless job by day, mentally counting the repetitious manual labour movements in his head while keeping one eye on the clock, awaiting freedom. He lives for the weekend, where his mission is to spend as much of his wages as possible, all 14 shillings of it. He has a wardrobe of nice suits, a string of women and an unslakable thirst. He and the book are post-war, pre-Beatles Britain. Black and white and caked in dirt, smelling of the gas works and mould under the wallpaper. The freedom of victory without the money to enjoy it. It was published in 1958 and was adapted to film in 1960, starring Albert Finney and directed by Karol Reisz who followed it up with another classic of the new genre in 1963, 'This Sporting Life'.

In 1959 he published 'The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner', a short story collection. The titular story concerns Colin, a petty thief who is sent to borstal for the robbery of a bakery. Here, his talent for running is spotted and the head of the institution knows that he could be just the boy to win in the forthcoming match against a local public school, boosting his own social standing. Colin is smarter than his captors give credit for. Cruising to an easy win, he stops short of the line and loses to make a point. The race is not important. You don't have to do what they want. Even as he is thrown back into the drudgery of borstal routine from his position of relative freedom and ignored by the head, he smiles inside. He didn't capitulate to the system or doff his cap to supposed 'elders and betters'. It is the story of how a new meritocracy was rising to replace the old school tie. You were now free to get on by what you knew, not who you knew.

Released in cinemas in 1962, it stars a young Tom Courtney, soon to become 'Billy Liar', as well as early roles for James Bolam who would go on to star as Terry in two of the most important situation comedies of the 60's and 70's, The Likely Lads, and Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads respectively. They themselves concerned the lives of men yearning for more than the previous generation, to more comedic effect. Also John Thaw (The Sweeney, Inspector Morse) and Micheal Redgrave. It was directed by Tony Richardson, coming off the back of 'Look Back In Anger' in 1958 and 'A Taste of Honey' in 1961, starring Rita Tushingham.

With these two works Alan Sillitoe sealed his place in the list of great post-war English writers and made Nottingham a central character as much as Arthur or Colin. No doubt the two men drank Home Ales from the local brewery and smoked John Player cigarettes. Two local employers that along with Raleigh, making bikes for generations of British children (myself included), stood on the skyline of the city and defined it as much as the River Trent or Robin Hood.

Looking back at the myriad of links between talents working in the two films, and where they went on to after, the people and works that radiated outwards from it, you see how Alan was the engine to those 'English New Wave' and 'Angry Young Man' movements. The frame upon which these actors and directors could spread themselves. From here Britain readied itself for, and got, The Beatles. The Rolling Stones and The Kinks. Even today, young gunslingers like The Arctic Monkeys turn to the words of Arthur Seaton for album titles (Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not). In cinema followed the likes of Mike Leigh and 1970's 'kitchen sink' realism. Entire films like 'Vera Drake' built around a subject of abortion that was so shocking when it first appeared as a groundbreaking scene in 'Saturday Night...' thirty years earlier. I don't find it any coincidence that televisions longest running soap, a kitchen sink drama itself, 'Coronation Street' , began in 1960 at the heart of the revolution.

Last year, he appeared on the BBC's Desert Island Discs, where he said if he were cast away his ideal companions would be a record of Le Ca Ira sung by Edith Piaf, a copy of the RAF navigation manual, The Air Publication 1234, and a communications receiver - but for receiving only. It seemed he had done enough telling and was now content with listening.

As I said at the beginning, I met Alan once. I arranged from him to come to talk about his new book and his life at Waterstone's Nottingham, in the 'Sillitoe Room', the events room that he had opened eight years earlier. The morning before I rang his home to check everything was set and if he had any requirements for the evening. I was told he was in the garden. I smiled wryly at the vision that produced in my mind. The original angry young man, pottering in a garden, now comfortable that his work was done and he had nothing left to prove. Then I remembered his comments that he had never liked the 'angry' tag anyway and I was struck that once again he had defied my assumptions of him. Whatever you think I am, that's what I'm not.

Anyway, he would be happy with sandwiches and water. He arrived that evening a perfect gentleman. I sat with him before he took to his audience, making him tea. Then for an hour he regaled the audience and myself with tales of a life well lived, including a fine demonstration of Morse code still lodged in his memory from his R.A.F days. He happily signed books for all. As he got ready to leave, I asked if he wanted any of the food I had brought for his visit, that had remained untouched. Without a thought nor hesitation, he produced a plastic bag from his pocket and tipped it all in, thanked me for the evening and went for his taxi.

It made me laugh then, although I was too polite to do so out loud or to say anything to him. The remembrance of it has brought a wry smile on regular occasion in the two years since. It will continue to do so even more now. A Nottinghamian through and through, like Arthur or Colin, taking whatever he could get away with.

Carl Davis