by Rupert Wolfe Murray | 18 Jan, 2023 | Opinions
I wrote this blog post just after my father died, at home, on the west coast of Scotland, in January 2023.
I’m in a state of shock but also not surprised as he lived his life in a state of wild defiance of the conventions and norms of ordinary life, and hated the idea of being looked after or helped by others. He loved people but hated officialdom.
On the one hand I want to sum up his extraordinary and eccentric life — I want to explain his charm, his writings, his ability to listen to children, his interests, games, passions and collections — but I’m at a loss. I’m stuck. I have so much to say but at the same time I don’t want to write anything as I need time to process my confusion and grief.
This is where you come in. Perhaps you have a poignant memory of Angus Wolfe Murray, the author, publisher, film critic and specialist in the transportation of fine arts. Did you know him? Were you impressed by his conversation, style and unique outlook on life? Can you comment on his transition from the upper class values of his parents into the bohemian lifestyle he brought us up in?
Last time I made an appeal like this was just after my mother died in the summer of 2017. I wrote a short blog post asking for comments, anecdotes and memories about her and suddenly there were over 25 brilliant pieces of writing — many of which made their way into a little book we rushed into print for her memorial service. You can see the PDF version of it here.
So please add a comment below. And please realise that a sentence will do fine, pithy little statements can be great. Short is sweet and long is lovely. It’s all good. This is the place to share your memories, however fleeting or fragmented, of Angus Wolfe Murray.
And I hope to see you at his funeral, which will take place at 11am on the 9th of February in the Eastgate Theatre, Peebles, in the Scottish Borders. We want to get as many folk as possible there, to celebrate his love for people.
Postscript (several weeks later): I am bowled over by the incredible comments that have come in about our Dear Departed Dad. Thanks so much to you all; it’s not easy writing about such a complex character. These comments are giving us a new insight into a man who we took for granted, and also drove us crazy in his final years. I’m so proud he had such a positive impact on so many people’s lives. I think the most memorable quote about him is this: he was ‘a woodland faun in human frame’; a cricketer friend then added the quip “Did fauns wear frayed denim jeans…with “multi-coloured patches?”.
There’s a lot of cricketing stories here and one of the contributors, Tim Wilcock, wrote that “Angus told me once that he was at Eton with one Henry Blofeld.” As every cricketer will know, Blofeld went on to become a legendary cricket commentator for the BBC (and also the name of the Arch Villain in the James Bond books). Some years later Wilcock met “Blowers” and asked him if he remembered Angus Wolfe Murray. Of course he did, and said they played a match together at Lords. Wilcox then found an old record of the match, sent it to me, and I put it into this slideshow of my Dad-as-schoolboy-cricket-star with his brother Jimmy.
If you want to contact me, about any of this, just email me at wolfemurray [at] gmail.com. Lotsaluv, Rupert Wolfe Murray, Flore, Northampton Shire, January 2023
by Guest Blogger | 9 Jul, 2021 | Other People's Stories
I spent my last month in Scotland going through the residue of my mother’s stuff (she died in June 2017 and if you’d like to see how wonderful she was click here). We had a container full of things and I gave most of it away, to family and friends, but some of it had to be chucked. One of the last things I dealt with was a tatty-looking notebook I thought was only filled with scores for card games and to-do lists. It had to go. (more…)
by Rupert Wolfe Murray | 12 Oct, 2017 | Other People's Stories
[featured-video-plus]
This slideshow is my last tribute to my Mother, Stephanie Wolfe Murray, who died on the 24th of June at just 76 years of age.
I spent months gathering hundreds of photos, sorting them into categories and selecting just 50. Many are old family photos that I copied and squirreled away, some are by me and my brothers and some came in just a few days ago (thanks for Felicity and Fiona!). Only one has been swiped from an external agency: the first one (thank you Magnum).
I needed a song to go with the pictures and went about finding one by just listening to music on the radio, and on Youtube, over several weeks, always on the lookout for the ideal song. I believe that if you’re open to something it comes your way naturally; it literally falls into your lap.
This method worked well for the last video I posted about her, this 3 minute extract from a BBC documentary made in 1968. I heard Unforgettable, by Nat King Cole, when driving in Edinburgh and instantly knew that this was the one.
When I heard the music of Joe Hisaishi, who composes the soundtracks for the Japanese film studio Ghibli, I knew that he would have what I need. I listened to one of his concerts on Youtube (about 20 times) and found it, a song that reflects my Mother’s innocence, openness, beauty and courage. It’s called Second Encore and is from the film Princess Mononoke.
I think this song fits my mother’s character perfectly and the fact that it was made for a cartoon princess seems to fit perfectly. Children loved my Mother as they could sense she was open to them.
I found that I couldn’t write a tribute for my mother and I’m impressed that my brothers managed to do so rather soon after she died. And their tributes were superb.
I feel that this song, and these images, reflect what I feel at the moment. Even though I have written books and articles I find I can’t put into words how much I miss my mother; how much she means to me. But this slideshow does the trick. It’s sad but it’s also uplifting and I know she would have wanted us to go on being positive and kind, not wallowing in sorrow.
Before her death I was working on several books. Since she died I stopped working on them. All I can do is write about my Mother and I’ve posted a series of articles about her.
Over the last few months it was like I was in a tunnel, just trudging along, not really being aware of anything other than putting one foot in front of the other. I didn’t know where the tunnel was going, all I knew was that I had to keep going.
Then I had an idea: this slideshow. It became the light at the end of the tunnel. I knew that this would be my last post, my last contribution about her, my last tribute.
Now I can move on.
by Rupert Wolfe Murray | 9 Oct, 2017 | Other People's Stories
I would like to draw your attention to the of the wee book I recently published about my dear departed Mother – Stephanie Wolfe Murray.
Just click on the blue lines above to get a PDF copy of it.
I suggest you download it, read it and keep it somewhere safe as it’s an uplifting and witty read despite the tragedy of her death at just 76 years of age. (more…)
by Guest Blogger | 12 Sep, 2017 | Other People's Stories
This text was read out at the memorial event to Stephanie Wolfe Murray at the Edinburgh Book Festival on 23 August 2017 by my big brother Kim. Photo by Peggy Hughes.
One of my earliest memories as a three or four year old was being given the mighty responsibility of doing the washing up. It was my first real sense of accomplishment. This had been long trailed by Mum as a special treat in store for good behaviour. Now I was finally getting to do the washing up on my little stool feeling proud as punch. I was Mum’s little helper. I don’t remember how long it took for the penny to drop, that washing up was an irksome chore to be avoided at all costs.
But by that time it was too late. There were four of us, all boys, close in age I was the eldest and there was no avoiding being co-opted into the frenzy of morning and evening panics to get to school or get dinner together and, well, forget about homework. For a long time we commuted from a dilapidated country house in the borders to school in Edinburgh in a variety of second hand bangers that Mum would drive into the ground.
She was always working late so after school I would end up in the Canongate office at 17 Jeffrey Street circa 1975, packing books in the front window for the grizzled Australian sales manager Dave Morgan. Thick brown paper wrapping. Sellotape, proper twine tied tight, but not too tight, according to Dave’s exacting instructions.
The back rooms were Mum’s realm. Corridors of books and manuscripts. Often entire print runs would end up as semi-permanent towers squeezed behind doors. There would be a flow of interns, editors, accountants, publishers, authors and illustrators who themselves had become co-opted by Mum as part of the whirlwind carousel that was Canongate Publishing. It wasn’t that there was a massive number of books being published each year, but gradually the nest of home grown authors started to grow into a flock. Foreign titles, histories, really imaginative childrens books. Even….bestsellers…thank you Antonia Fraser, Jimmy Boyle, Alaisdar Gray for keeping Canongate afloat for these early years.
So Mum ended up through sheer chance at the centre of this Scottish literary revival in the 70’s when Edinburgh really felt like a cultural desert. However unlikely it seemed that someone from her background, with no higher education to speak of, with only a love of books and beauty and wild places, could pull this feat off. She did.
So we’re here to celebrate this tonight and we’re going to hear from those who worked closely with her as a publisher and a friend and were affected or influenced by her in some way. I can only say on behalf of my family that we have been quite simply overwhelmed and moved by the tributes and eulogies we have received from so many admirers from every walk of life. We all knew how special, how infuriating, how determined she was. Between ourselves we referred to her as the Boss. But she was also incredibly loving and kind and forgiving.
And I think that’s what’s going to stay with me into the future.
*
Many other people gave short talks at this memorial event to our mother, including Alexander McCall Smith, Alasdair Gray, Tom Pow and Jamie Byng. I will make available the audio recording soon.
