Pam Fish was born in South London, at the beginning of the Second World War and spent her first six years, crouching in air-raid shelters and raking around bomb-sites, with her big brother. It was a terrible, frightening time, but they lived through it and after the arrival of a new baby sister, moved from the bomb torn back streets to the much greener open spaces of Wimbledon.
Pam was an avid diary writer and some her exercise books, filled with vivid descriptions of friends, holidays and surroundings, made for the basis of her novels in later years.
She has three children from a first marriage and two stepsons that her second husband brought with him a hazy forty years ago. Between them they have seven grandchildren and by the time Easter 2016 comes around will have three great-grandchildren as well.
Pam began her writing career with a postal writing course, followed by a residential week on creative writing at Denman College in Oxfordshire. She scribbled away when she could but didn't start writing seriously until she'd retired and moved out of London to Peterborough. Since then she has completed five novels, two of which have been published.
After attending an Annual Festival of Writing at the University of Durham, Pam became an individual member of NAWG, over thirteen years ago. Enjoying her membership, she joined the committee after a couple of years, did her bit, then left again, as in those days there seemed plenty of volunteers to take over the jobs.
After being invited to the festival in 2008, she was asked to re-join the committee by Nicolette Ward who was Chairman at that time. In 2010, and feeling that NAWG was in dire need of a pick-me-up, she threw herself head first into doing just that. At the next AGM she was voted in as Chairman and with the support of hard working volunteers they have turned NAWG into what it is now; a strong, forward looking group, which Pam says she is proud to be part of.
|Author:||Kevin Machin||Date:||February 20, 2016 10:51 am|
|Responses:||0 – open||Article:||4434 – published|