In 1995 I left at the reception desk of the West Yorkshire Playhouse a copy of our son Nat's poems, The Mountain Man, collected by my husband on Nat's death at 20 in 1992, in the hope that Alan Rickman (Obituary, 15 January) would make time to read the accompanying letter. In it I shared with him how much we had both been moved on attending a preview of his stage production of The Winter Guest the evening before. As …
SOURCE: The Guardian at 01:54PM on January 20, 2016