In search of Laurie Lee: the touching memoir of a chance encounter with the author at his iconic Slad home

Lee's famous memoir Cider with Rosie was retold in a well-received BBC television production, while a previously unseen collection of essays were also published for the first time.

These two works beautifully depicted the rich landscapes and traditions of Lee’s childhood growing up in the village of Slad, where he later returned to spend the later years of his life.

Writing for the SNJ, Laurie Lee fan James Lancaster from Chorley recounts the tale of a chance encounter with the author in his iconic Slad home in 1981.

• In search of Laurie Lee by James Lancaster -----

Among the many yarns which Laurie Lee could readily call upon to retell was one in particular which seemed to give him much pleasure.

It concerned those young students who on reading his classic Cider with Rosie for their English Literature exam, then wanted to see for themselves the country side in which the story of his childhood unfolded. Some came with their parents, others as pupils with teachers in minibuses for a Cider with Rosie tour.

In their quest to seek him out - in some cases as it seemed, dead or alive - the young visitors unknowingly provided the substance for his favourite anecdote. Therefore he could willingly explain of the day when he was seated outside the local Woolpack Inn as two schoolgirls came strolling by.

They stopped and asked; "Excuse us sir, can you tell us where Laurie Lee is buried?" He later admitted the question gave him a shiver of mortality, but in this instance his initial response was, "You'll find him buried in the public bar most days".

It was our daughter's own longing to visit the scenic rural setting of the author's enthralling autobiography that led our family on such a search, which since that September afternoon we have always considered could rank among the best of stories listed under the heading, 'Looking for Laurie Lee'.

The day began ordinarily enough with a discussion among the girls about what they would like to do. We were in Gloucestershire, having travelled from Lancashire to meet with friends whose two young daughters, Carla and Joanne chose Scott's Bird Sanctuary at Slimbridge.

This observation of wildfowl was enjoyed in the morning, while the afternoon was to be taken up visiting a village called Slad, the choice of our elder daughter Heidi.

Few of us knew anything about it - but she did - which was enough for her younger sister Martine to be in full support of the venture. As Heidi explained; Slad was the village written about by Laurie Lee in Cider with Rosie, the story of his boyhood and a classic book set for her O level exam.

On arriving we parked and began to walk, soon coming to a low stone wall alongside the road. Beyond it were headstones and graves which climbed until adjacent to the stone-built church overlooking them. It was remarked that the famous author could be resting therein, but this brought a swift assurance that indeed he was alive.

Still we looked for the central feature in the autobiographer's story, the T-shaped house of his boyhood. We were informed it would be below a grass bank. At first unsuccessful in our search and having split into reconnoitring groups, I suddenly looked down below the level of the road, and there it lay exactly as described.

The girls did not hesitate, but negotiated with all haste the path that curved down through the thick summer grass. They were met by the occupant, a kindly man who showed them into the kitchen, and then the shrubbery and flower-filled garden. Even more helpful he explained that Laurie Lee still lived behind the Woolpack Inn not far away.

We four adults - being left some distance behind - followed along the narrow road, where eventually the well-informed group stopped at a high wooden fence sealing off the garden of a detached stone property. There was an equally tall gate and a latch that when lifted, opened up a heaven-sent opportunity which could not possibly be refused.

One by one they disappeared from view, and the minutes ticked by. Then Martine showing much enthusiasm ran out saying: 'Daddy you can come in and bring your camera', adding reassuringly: 'Don't be shy!'

I followed her to take my place in the delightful scene; Mrs Lee seated at a table upon which were arranged the necessities for afternoon tea, the author himself, standing and in conversation with the girls, while in a farther corner a stable, and another girl - daughter of the house - tending a horse.

Soon I realised I was shaking the hand of the man who had written Cider with Rosie along with other highly acclaimed books of prose and poetry.

Heidi stood proudly beside him, student with author as I took the photograph.

In that fleeting instant, the camera's clicking shutter embraced a magical moment in time.

There they stood in front of a low stone wall bordering the garden, as the Cotswold countryside, its rising fields and merging woodland framed them in Nature's grandeur.

He told of having been to a dance the previous night and pointed out a decorative souvenir hanging precariously above the back door. Then showing interest in the Gloucestershire guidebook Heidi was holding he saw the entry on Slad, crossed out the word was, to replace it so the sentence read correctly; 'This is Laurie Lee's home'.

Furthermore, in the space below the paragraph he penned his valued autograph and also went inside for a camera to take his own photograph saying how he liked to keep a record of events. For one whose writing breathed life into moments recalled from the past, this was readily understood.

When Heidi wrote to thank him for his kindness and consideration, he replied; "I usually keep my gate locked on Sunday afternoons, but I'm glad I didn't on this occasion as it was a pleasure meeting such an intelligent young lady, as well as your family and friends".

The days and years have moved on since the adventure of that afternoon unfolded, and there being nothing permanent about human life here on earth, the central figure in that scene is no longer to be found walking the pathways of his beloved landscape.

Visitors can now come to this Gloucestershire village to pay respects by his graveside. It will be found near to the church wall at the top of a grassy slope, overlooking the road, and within sight of the stone cottage which was his home.

A little way along that road the school of his boyhood still stands, and at the nearby Woolpack Inn where he enjoyed many a social gathering, a brass nameplate for long marked the author's own seat.

No greater accolade could be bestowed upon a writer, than the opening paragraph of his obituary in The Times: "Not since Emily Bronte or Thomas Hardy has an English writer become as indelibly associated with an area of countryside as Laurie Lee.

"He immortalised the damp green slopes and dripping beech woods, the flower-smothered summers and sharp-frosted winters of Gloucestershire's Slad Valley and made them part of the English literary landscape".

Of that day's events, the images have dawned many times since; whenever the author appeared on television, or broadcast, or was featured in the press.

In any bookshop I can run my fingers along alphabetical lists of Hardy, to Lawrence, to Laurie Lee, take out Cider with Rosie and read a passage which wafts me back to the meeting which took place in a Cotswold garden.

To a day when exuberant youth undeterred by a high wooden fence walked in unannounced - and I followed. It was a day of late summer to be ever remembered.

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Born in Stroud in 1914, Laurie Lee was educated at Slad village school and Stroud Central School.

He left when he was 19, but he returned to the village in the 1960s and it remained his home until his death in 1997.

Lee’s memoir Cider With Rosie established him as one of England’s most treasured writers, selling more than six million copies worldwide.

His other works include As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning (1969) and A Moment of War (1991).

These second two novels recount his journey on foot to Spain, his experience of the Civil War, and his return in 1937 to join the Republican International Brigades in the fight against Franco's Nationalists.

Despite his success as a novelist, Lee’s one true love was poetry, though he was only moderately successful.

A troubled genius, Lee died in Slad on 13 May 1997, at the age of 82. He is buried in the local churchyard.