Wainwright came into my life half a century ago when Harry Firth, printer, arrived at the Dalesman office in north-west Yorkshire with a small packet which he reverently unwrapped. Into view came what are now the familiar hand-written, hand-drawn pages of a walker’s guide to the eastern fells. In the mid-1950s, this had novelty value. I marvelled at the meticulous penmanship of a book that was intended to be printed with the pages as they were, with none of the customary sub-editing or proof-reading. Harry Firth mentioned that the author-artist was a Mr Wainwright–those were respectful days. This Mr Wainwright presided over the finance department at Kendal town hall and what I looked at was evening work, spread over two years. […]

I gathered that Wainwright–simply AW to his close friends–was a character. He was a man of original thought and action who recoiled from the idea of personal publicity. Harry Firth, for whom he had a great regard, arranged a meeting early in 1955. I duly turned up in Wainwright’s office, having entered the town hall from a side door, to be confronted by a tall, bespectacled man wearing a suit of a quiet shade that had absorbed the tang of pipe tobacco. He spoke quietly and was sparing with his words. Grasping notebook and pencil, I awaited an opportunity to start the interview. When I mentioned my joy at having seen some of his work, he fumbled in a desk drawer and brought out other examples. Another pause, then he did not allow the interview to take place. I faced not so much a refusal as a process of being bogged down with petty details, such as how many words I would write and how long it would take me.

I suggested that I might submit some questions to him by post, with a stamped addressed envelope for his considered reply. He agreed, and at home he dutifully set down his answers. They were never posted.