February 2011
Many older people will probably remember Valentine Dyall, the character actor, who played small parts in numerous British films from the 1940's up till the 1980's. In later years, though, he was best known as the voice of the storyteller in the BBC mystey and horror series 'Appointment with Fear', a weekly item which ran for many years; for some reason he was called 'The Man in Black' (though as it was radio - sorry, wireless, it hardly mattered whether he was or not), his sonorous voice would re-tell some very gruesome tales; not recommended for late night listening.
By contrast, very few people will have heard of a Valentine Grimebody as he achieved no particular fame . . . though his life was not entirely uneventful.
Born in Scressley, one of the lesser Lancashire mill towns, Val, as he was known (before the era of 'equality' and 'P.C.') was a rather sickly and puny boy who had a talent for picking up any bug or ailment which happened to be a around (and there were plenty); and, into the bargain he was none too bright in the brain department either.
So, not a very good start. Home life was hard, but fairly typical for the times; his father, though well meaning, was inclined to turn to the bottle rather too readily. His long suffering mother was just one more downtrodden drudge dividing her efforts between the kitchen and the laundry (when not in the maternity ward where she produced several children, including our Valentine). She, of course, did not have much time for individual loving care and attention.
Schooldays were not much better. Being of such diminutive stature and perceived as 'slow' or 'dim' he was, according to the code of children, the target for considerable ridicule and contempt. Had there been any suitable bathing beaches nearby, the bigger lads would, no doubt, have kicked sand in his face.
Valentine's academic record was nothing to get very excited about. He did, however, seem to have some natural talent for writing. Time passed and he somehow survived some years of attempted formal education, not helped too much by being expelled at the age of thirteen on account of his persistent unruly behaviour.
Out in the wide world he stumbled his erratic a way through a series of unskilled, low paid jobs. In his spare time he maintained his interest in writing and would, from time to time, submit stories to various publications until, after years of these efforts, out of the blue, he received a letter saying that the Daily Sleaze had passed one of his manuscripts on to a minor literary agent in Bradford. This agent encouraged him to send in any more recent writing, while also giving him some tips on 'what would sell.'
Meanwhile Val's health was never very good and, on one of his frequent visits to the clinic, his Dr. said he suspected he might be developing Kinetic Euphasia a disease rarely seen in Britain. As a precaution he sent off some blood samples for testing. Val went home feeling even more gloomy than usual.
Some people believe fate can play strange tricks, and who is to say they are wrong. It came to pass that on the 14th of February 1976 a few encouraging things happened on the same day. In the morning post Val received a letter from a well known Hollywood movie studio saying they would be very interested in buying the film rights to his most recent story, 'The Camels of Kalahari.' Then in the afternoon his local surgery phoned to tell him the good news; his test results had proved to be negative. By this time he was feeling very pleased with the change in his fortunes but more was to come. On the evening TV he found that his National Lottery ticket had scooped the big prize; only 3.5 million this week but acceptable nevertheless.
While celebrating in the pub later with a few friends he had managed to accumulate over the years, he could hear many people agreeing about one thing: this must surely be Valentine's DAY!