The Economist (US), March 12th, 1988
ONE sunny afternoon in the early 1970s, Sir William Walton and his wife were basking by their pool on the island of Ischia. A scruffy youth appeared and asked in a broad Lancashire accent, "Are you my uncle Willie?" The composer from Oldham did not feel avuncular, and told his wife to get rid of the boy. Some 20 years earlier she was given the same instructions when she realised that she was pregnant: she was left to face alone an incompetent abortionist.
Susana Walton explains such behaviour as appropriate to a great artist. By her own admission, however, she knows next to nothing about mu...
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