People’s itineraries, particularly those of artists, fascinate me. Place will inevitably rub off on people’s writings. Sometimes delving into what surrounds them, sometimes with a look over their shoulder at what they left behind as if they can see it more clearly at a distance.
Tom Bryan was born in Winnipeg, Canada, moved from there to the USA to study, then spent the next few decades in the UK, first in Chester, England, then the north of Scotland, to the Scottish Borders, and he now lives in the west of Scotland. Tom has published several books, poetry, fiction and non-fiction. His latest, Starboy has left our Galaxy, is published by Diehard’s Fiction Direct.
Q:You were born in Canada and educated there and in the US. Had you already started writing then, before you came to Scotland? Did you always want to be a writer?
Tom: Before I first came to Scotland in 1975, I had written some poetry, haiku chiefly, but had never published anything. From childhood, I was a voracious reader. My family was poor and books were scarce so we were great public library users. I studied philosophy at university, thinking to become a defence lawyer, a ‘public defender’. At university I took a creative writing class with the author Kathryn Foriyes who encouraged my writing. I think from that time I thought I might write but knew nothing about it. I also liked sport so thought I might consider sports writing or journalism. I did a journalism class in High School. So I would say becoming a writer was always at the back of my mind but poetry and fiction came much later.
Q:Your mother was from Scotland originally. Was that the reason you came to Scotland? Did you feel a sense of being at home in Scotland?
Tom: My mother came from Portobello, Edinburgh. She was a war bride and met my Canadian father during the war. My father died when I was three. My mother's aunts and cousins also emigrated to Canada and America after the war and they were a big part of my North American upbringing. My great-aunt Margaret was from Orkney and grew up in Leith. My mother was never able to return to Scotland but yes, that’s why I first came to Scotland. I have lived and travelled all over Scotland and have always felt at home here. Scotland is inherently democratic both politically and culturally. That has always suited me. Most everything in Scotland is achieved on merit.
Q:What were your first publications and involvement in literature? What writers did you/do you admire?
Tom: I worked in Chester from 1982 to 1985 and joined the Chester Poets. They met weekly and encouraged me to read and write poetry. Their yearly anthologies included my first published work. When I later moved up to Scotland, there was an active writing scene and my poems and fiction began to appear in Chapman, Lines Review and Cencrastus. I think my first published poem was in Orbis, which is still going. I also sent my work off to small presses in both England and Scotland. My first collection Wolfwind came out with Chapman in 1996. I was 46 so kind of late to arrive!
Writers I admire in Scotland. Too many to list. I was lucky to meet some of that older generation, Norman MacCaig and Edwin Morgan. I was a support act for MacCaig in Gairloch in 1989.
I like the classic Russian writers, especially Gorky, Isaac Babel and Chekhov.
I’ve admired Irish writing too. I like Seamus Heaney and met him once.
Q: Can you pick one, or maybe 2, of the stories from ‘Starboy’ and talk about where they came from, the ideas or the feelings that prompted you to write them?
Tom: Writers often have their own favourite stories, for different reasons.
My best fiction is often rooted in fact. Miracle on Warrior Street is a good example. Polio was central to my generation of Canadian youngsters. Both our neighbouring houses were affected by polio. I remember so many children of my age using callipers, crutches and wheelchairs. There were few families on my long street who spoke English as their first language so that enters the story through the very real character of Marie Charbonneau (name changed from one quite similar). I felt that those fears and hopes for a vaccine needed honoured. Ive always liked South American magical realism so this is my Canadian attempt. My older brother was in that group of ‘polio pioneers’ that first group of the world’s children who were given the Salk/Sabine vaccines: one a sugar cube, the other a needle.
The story Demolition was told to me by two men from Argyll. It is a true story that I felt needed preserved somehow but because I was not there, I had to imagine it based on what I was told. It was told to me in a dramatic fashion so I've tried to write it similarly. My own Irish and Scottish background leans heavily on that oral tradition which I try to respect when I write. I think my best stories in Starboy could be powerful as tales told aloud.
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The first paragraph of Miracle on Warrior Street introduces you immediately to the people who lived here, immigrants from various nations, their working routines, their sense of community.
It was named by fur trappers and French voyagers: Warrior Street. The First Nations warrior wandered up from the river and lived here, back in 'wolf and bear' times. That warrior became a ghost but his name remained. Now, there were new warriors who had fought Hitler, Hirohito and Mussolini; some from the Baltic countries were enslaved and ordered by the nazis to fight the Russians. Some came back with stories, silences and tattoos. Others came back to live in quiet back rooms, their mental wars never ending. Shell shock was all anybody said but it explained enough. Warriors begin the day with a good breakfast. Canadian back bacon, toast and eggs or kasha and pierogi, French pastries. Coffee and cigarettes. These warriors all smoke and some have handy machines which roll the cigarettes needed for the day; paper, tobacco and a little handle that rolls the cigarettes down a small chute. They lick the paper then seal it. They gather up the ration of rollups then put them gently into shirt pockets, above which the warrior's name was clearly spelled on a sewn-on patch: Andrew, Ivan, Marcel. Those shirts would sometimes flee the washing line in a strong warming wind or in an arctic wind that had already kissed the fur of wolverine, moose and polar bear. Those winds then carried the shirt far down backyards with no boundary of tree, hedge or fence. A Churchenko shirt could be found many houses away by Charbonneau or O'Leary and then washed, ironed, folded and neatly returned to the warrior, bonding the warriors and their families in comradeship.
Where to get the book? Please email Tom Bryan at bryan414@btinternet.com requesting the book and he will email you back with details.
You can hear Tom's poem In Praise of Bridges read here.
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