Sir Walter and I go back a long way, and over the years I have incurred many debts of gratitude. The archival research upon which this book is built could not have been done without the help of numerous librarians and archivists, the insights of historians and literary critics, or the passing conversations with churchwardens, Beefeaters and dowager duchesses. I thank them all.
While it is frustrating not to be able to thank every individual who has helped me understand Ralegh’s life, work and time, it is downright painful not to be able to thank Roger Harvey for his love and support over the years. That he knew, before his untimely death, I was going to write this book and that he believed that I would complete it, come what may, is small consolation. Requiescat in pace.
I can, however, thank my friends old and new for keeping the faith and bringing comfort and joy into my life. It is invidious to name names, but here’s to you: Kathryn Basson, Sam Berman, Antonia Bruce, Gina Cowan, Katrina Crossley, Karen Elliott, Matt Harvey, Martha Maguire, Doris McAndrew, Paul Schwartfeger, Ian and Margaret Slack, Hugh Weldon and Liz Woolley.
Sam Carter has been an exemplary editor and Kirsty McLachlan a truly supportive agent. Thank you both for your expertise and kindness. I am lucky to have you. Colleagues and students on the Creative Writing MSt at Oxford University have provided proper challenge and inspiration and community in equal measure.
I dedicate this book to my big-hearted daughters Rebecca and Elise using, in this year of love and loss, words that may or may not have been written by Ralegh. I’d like to think they are his.
But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.