Hello, readers. In my last post I told you how I knew Tolkien as a young girl. J.R.R. Tolkien
Actually, our connection resumed again when I was lucky enough to get a place at Oxford University to read English ('Of course!', maybe you're saying with wry knowingness).
Tolkien was still a Professor of Anglo-Saxon there, so my grandparents and I got back in touch and with them, I visited him in his rooms near Merton College. I remember my younger sister was with us: prettier, more charming; and that he seemed much more interested in her lively conversation and winning ways than in my dumbstruck, intense awe. Oh, the bitter realities of youth.
Anyway, as with all good stories there's a denouement, if not a twist: he died before I 'came up' to my College, sadly, so I never had the happy pleasure of being lectured to or tutored by the Great Man.
So how does a novelist-in-waiting find reading English Language and Literature at Oxford University? Does it inspire? What did it do for me, if anything?