My memory is from way back in the days of the sweltering tents and the admission fee to the often muddy gardens. Though I did not stand on the shoulders of giants, I did literally sit at the feet of Melvyn Bragg. It was in the days when the imprisoned writers event took place in a tepee and, if I remember correctly, there was only one reader and they got to sit on a chair. I sat on the ground right next to his right leg. Though it wasn’t quite the giant’s shoulder, I did feel that the whole setting contributed to a greater appreciation of and empathy with the plight of those writers whose voices had been cruelly silenced. Now that the event is big-tented, I still remember to try to re-create that special and poignant feeling from all those years ago.

Gail Keating