Foreword: Alan Deyermond: A Memoir

Summary

One of my earliest memories of my father is of us both in his office in Westfield College. He is standing at the door, answering a knock from what sounds like a student, and I, aged probably about three and sitting in his chair, am taking advantage of his distraction to eat the bar of chocolate he keeps in his desk drawer.

I am struck by this memory, thinking back about my father, because of what it suggests about him. This was in the mid-1970s, two decades before the emergence of ‘Take Your Daughter to Work Day’, but it seemed quite normal – to both of us, I think – that he would bring me into college from time to time, just as it seemed absolutely unremarkable that I could wander in to his study at home whenever I wanted. It was only later that I discovered that not all academic fathers allowed their children to interrupt their work, or to assist them with typing their book manuscripts, or to choose the colour of their book covers (red, for the Lazarillo de Tormes critical guide).

All the tributes to my father since his death have commented on both his extraordinary research output and the closeness of his relationship to his family. These two things need to be understood as wholly interdependent. My father never saw his work as a sphere distinct from the rest of his life, or his personal life as a distraction from his work.