The writer William McIlvanney was my English teacher and class tutor at Irvine Royal Academy in the mid-60s, and while young people south of the border were idolising pop and rock stars, my fellow sixth-formers thought we had our own celebrity in our midst in the form of our teacher. Word somehow got round that William’s first novel had been published, and an enterprising student got hold of some copies to bring them in for signing. William obliged with some embarrassment and was very modest about his achievement.
He was a calm and understated teacher who was respectful and supportive of our goals, and his classes were among the most interesting and creative of all my educational experiences. I subsequently moved to England, but was able to keep up with his career when he took part in BBC arts programmes or on Radio 4 book reviews, where he was an occasional guest.
A few years ago when I was teaching creative writing in the education department of a West Country prison, an inmate with a thick Glaswegian accent asked me if I “had any McIlvanney” and was astonished when I was able to produce them. These novels about tough Glaswegian characters circulated on the wings for many years and I think that would have amused the author.
