MARGARET: Kate was born late, with very long fingernails. When the
doctor saw her he said: “She was probably busy in there, finishing her
book.” I thought that was prophetic, because she’s never seen without a
book, ever. She’s always got one in her bag — she stands at the bus stop
reading — and she’s been like that since she was a tiny child. She didn’t
seem to think sleep was important. At 3am she’d climb out of her cot and sit
in her room looking at books and doing puzzles. She was totally
self-sufficient. She’d colour, read to her toys. In the morning we’d
often find her asleep over her books.
We’re not a family who sits about. We could never go on a beach holiday — we’d
be bored. Even when Kate was tiny we’d be off doing things at weekends. We’d
take her to museums and explain things to her because she was always
interested. She was very active as a child, always looking for stimulation.
It could have been exhausting, but I didn’t have to go back to work, so it
was delightful.
As a family we have a very strong work ethic. I won’t be modest about it — I
was a very good primary-school teacher because I wanted to instil in the
children the love of learning we gave to our two. We read to Kate in English
and Welsh from birth. In those days they recommended you didn’t teach your
child to read before she went to school; when Kate started at our local
primary, at five, we were chastised because she had taught herself. She read
anything and everything. In school holidays there were lots of activities —
parks, art galleries — and we’d discuss them afterwards. I’m sure Kate would
have made it on her own, but I like to think we gave her her thirst for
knowledge.
Kate is very independent, very determined. She’s passionate about everything,
from the latest art exhibition to dance. She’s really keen on business and
economics. In our hearts, we always knew Kate was destined for Oxbridge. She
has the most amazingly analytical mind and ability to recall. Make an
innocuous statement and it will be almost forensically dissected. She’s
terribly clever, but she’s modest with it.
She’d always written fabulous stories — but while she was writing her PhD, on
seduction in the 18th century, she found a hugely passionate letter from
Emma Hamilton to Lord Nelson, and it was like a light going on. She wrote a
proposal for a book [England’s Mistress] and found an agent.
She does have a punishing work schedule, and we do worry, but she’s never been
one who needs to sleep. She’ll work till three in the morning, get up at
eight and do it all again. When she’s writing we could easily not hear from
her for a few weeks.
It means she’s busy, she’s happy, and that’s the way the relationship is.
She’s so focused on what she’s doing that a phone call or a
visit isn’t welcome. She’s never been tortured by her writing as far as I
know. I’ve never heard her say she’s got a block or anything like that.
She’s got a natural flair for language. We thought she’d be an academic. It
never occurred to us she’d make such a fabulous career out of her writing.
The first time we saw Kate on the television we thought: “This cannot be our
daughter. She speaks like Kate, she looks like Kate… But how on Earth have
we produced a young lady like this?”
KATE: I was very happy with my family, but as a child I spent a lot of
time on my own, thinking and reading and playing imaginary games. I was
obsessed with reading. I inhabited a kind of internal world that was totally
real and vivid to me. Some of my best moments were to do with the images and
multi-volume stories
I conjured in my head.The only time I can remember being really unhappy was
when I was 12 or 13 and I couldn’t find books to fit me.
I didn’t have to be on my own such a lot — I chose to be. I think a lot of
writers were self-sufficient children. My stories were complex and
individual and so much part of my own head; I didn’t want to describe them
and share them. Imagination makes you a bit selfish in that respect.
Outwardly I appeared to be a normal, clever little girl who was very
well-behaved. But in my mind I was everything and everywhere. I always felt
I was hiding things: hiding my stories, what was going on in my head.
I’m so grateful to my mum for allowing me to escape into my books and my
writing, and not trying to force me to do anything else. I think my extended
family, particularly my grandparents, found me very strange. They couldn’t
understand why a small child would want to have her head in a book all the
time. I was lucky that I didn’t look too weird. If I’d been a bespectacled,
beaky little girl it might have been a lot worse.
I taught myself to write, which means I still can’t write properly because I
hold my pen so oddly.
All I did all day at school was write stories in my book, and in that respect
nothing has changed. But when I tried recently to write about my childhood I
found it really hard to recapture it. I realised that the houses we lived in
that I’d thought were so magical were completely normal. But I think in lots
of ways that was far more liberating for me than being brought up in a huge
bohemian house in Camden.
I have friends whose parents are professors or writers who somehow guided
their children in terms of what they read. I’m so glad that nobody said to
me: “You must read this.” My parents never did, and maybe that’s because
they really didn’t know what to do with me other than to leave me to it.
My mum isn’t at all writerly, but we spent hours at museums and stately homes
indulging my interests. She was a very motherly mum. She stayed at home with
us right through until senior school, so she was always there, making
chocolate cake and participating in our crazy plans — we made costumes for
dolls, and trails and treasure hunts across the house. Some of her beautiful
clothes, such as the silver shoes she bought on her honeymoon in Italy,
ended up in our dressing-up box. Because of her ability to let us be free,
we had a childhood that was an adventure.
A lot of my friends found leaving home and going to university very difficult.
But I loved it. My parents were very close to each other, they still are,
and perhaps that allowed me to be so independent. I’m very grateful for my
loving upbringing, but we don’t really talk about my work, or my
relationships. Writers are difficult people to live with. If it doesn’t work
out, or I’m not doing enough, there’s no one to blame but me. When I see Mum
it’s to have fun and a break from the world in my mind. I have friends who
have very complicated relationships with their mothers.
I never argue with mine. Why would I? I’m too old! It’s pointless worrying
whether your parents approve of you or not — it really doesn’t matter. At
the end of the day, you’re on your own.
Kate Williams’s latest book, Becoming Queen, about the young Queen Victoria,
is out now. She lives in west London. Her mother, Margaret, 61, lives in
Cumbria.
Interviews by Caroline Scott.
Portrait by James O Jenkins
