My memories of Raymond Briggs

I really loved Raymond Briggs. I first met him in 1976, before his mega-fame had arrived. I was working in the publicity department of Raymond’s publishers, Hamish Hamilton, and every so often he would trundle a wheelie suitcase into the office containing the painted boards of artwork for his latest cartoon story. His visits were a joy because he was so funny, but also tricky because unlike every other author under our promotional care, Raymond considered the less media attention he received to be the better.

He referred to us as ‘blooming publicity women’ and we had to beg him to agree to talk to eager interviewers, and to submit to the scrutiny of TV and radio chat shows. The broadcaster Chris Evans, for example, was dismissed as ‘that ginger-haired git’. Launch parties were out of the question. Raymond was far more interested in talking to us than to the press. He struck up an excellent friendship with Brian the post-room manager, and they’d lock themselves in among the jiffy bags and proof copies and spend a good hour discussing their shared passion for the swing music of the wartime trombonist Glenn Miller.

Raymond could never resist a tease. For some long-forgotten reason he positioned me as the object of an unrequited love-crush by the comedian Barry Took. No conversation was complete without a reference to Barry Took. ‘Seen anything of that old rascal Barry Took recently?’ he would ask. ‘Let me know if Barry Took is giving you any bother.’ The fact that I had never met Barry Took was irrelevant. One Christmas an envelope arrived addressed to me in his distinctive script. The card inside read: ‘Got a craze for Spoonerisms now, so my new name for you is JULIET SICKLE NUN.