Years ago I wrote a letter to Tiffany Murray, the writer. I knew her Mum and Dad. I don't know if she received it but I'm reproducing a slightly amended version here.

I’ve been intending to write to you since reading ‘Diamond Star Halo’ last year, and realising our paths had crossed during the times the book portrays.  I really enjoyed your novel, it felt real and touched me as music had done then and still does now. 

I knew your mum (Joan) and Fritz when I and my then girlfriend worked at the restaurant in Monmouth. Shirley and I lived in Trellech, in Providence Cottage, a rented cottage, which was previously used as a base for house bands at Rockfield. 

Shirley started in the restaurant as a washer-up and was ‘promoted’ to help in the kitchen with your Mum.  I took her place next to the sink and was happy to wash-up several evenings each week, not for the wages you understand, but for the profiteroles which I used to steal (! - sorry Joan), the banter, and the wonderful atmosphere which seeped out of that little place on the corner of Church Street/Walk in Monmouth. 

I can remember several evenings when Rockfield guests came into the restaurant and provided excitement and a spread of nervous energy buzzing through all of the part-time staff - let alone Joan and Fritz preparing the food...  Other fun evenings, though, were when - now forgive me – Joan was a little stressed and the sound of pots and pans being thrown about the kitchen (was it downstairs?) became the soundtrack for the evening.   Both Shirley and I loved working in the restaurant, it proved a little extra income when times were hard for us both, and more importantly lots and lots of fun. 

The whole team did an outside catering ‘gig’, at the local military base in town, and the three female waitresses for the evening, Shirley (who with an Irish mother could produce a convincing Irish accent), Mary (herself Irish), and another, might have been Veronica, were being hit upon by the (then) drunken officers, all wearing their posh uniforms. All three women pretended to be outraged as they claimed to be Catholic nuns away from the convent for the evening and working for extra pocket money!  Of course the military, by then completely pissed, believed them and fell over themselves apologising! 

Shirley and I told this story for years afterwards!

There was also a good night at a party at your cottage in Glewstone, and being impressed with your sunken bath - god, how sheltered we were in those days.  Of course, all this was when you were still at school, so apologies for reminiscing about times which you may not remember, although ‘Diamond Star Halo’ shows you did remember lots.

This letter is prompted by the news that Fritz has passed away.  I can’t tell you how sorry I was to hear that.  He was such a lovely bloke, calm and a friend to all.  Nights when food was ‘slow’, he’d come onto the restaurant floor and pick up his guitar to play for the diners, offering ample wine to ease the delay...   which he did for us both when Joan and Fritz gave us an engagement present of a meal at the restaurant. It’s nice to know that his name is remembered and not only in Ross-on-Wye, and since the advent of the web, his career in music is highlighted and credited.  I have nothing but pleasant memories of my time in and around Monmouth and evenings spent in the company of your Mum and Fritz.   Please pass on my recollections and very best wishes to Joan.  I hope she is enjoying good health and sunshine.


Best Wishes



LINKS to more about Tiffany, her Mum and Fritz

Granta article: Mum & Fritz

Tiffany Murray's first novel

Tiffany Murray article on Queen's (the band) visit to her home

Telegraph Obit: Fritz Fryer



In a previous life, I worked as a mechanic at a Renault garage in Gloucestershire.  Now, I’m not the tallest of chaps, so when working on Renault 16's I used to take out the spare wheel (gearbox in the front of engine and spare sitting on top of the g/box) and sit on top of the radiator and gearbox inside the bonnet to work on the car.  Anyway, one day I put my spanners by the side of the battery as I always did whilst working on 16's and must have left one behind.  In those days my dad ran a Ironmongers shop and I bought all my tools from him, including a stamp which I used to mark my tools.  All my spanners were stamped with my name or initials.

Moving on::: I left this garage to move back north.  Years later, must be 3 or 4 years later.  I'm working at another Renault garage on the Wirral, and this Renault 16 turns up with engine problems.  The owner was driving from Gloucester north to the Lake District with his family, had an engine misfire, came off the motorway and drove to our garage.  I get given the job.  I open the bonnet, take out the spare wheel, climb inside to sit on the gearbox and automatically reach across to the battery, and there, low and behold is a spanner.  I pick it up - and it's my spanner from all those years ago with my initials stamped into it.

Firstly the owner wasn't initially planning on driving past the garage I was working at, but the misfire dictated it.  Anyone of half a dozen mechanics could have been earmarked for the job, but, no it came to me..   How weird is that.

I've still got the spanner - the trouble is, it's a not a very good spanner!