It is with great sadness that I write about the death of a dear and treasured friend, James Fleming.
Around the time that I moved over to the United States in the late ’90s James Fleming moved to his farm at the Blingery estate near Wick. However, it was not until 2002 that we met.
He had seen one of my paintings in an exhibition and turned up at my mother’s house, making enquiries about the artist. The painting in question had been sold, so he bought another with a similar theme. This transaction turned out to be the start of a long and deep friendship which lasted until his death.
James loved Wick, and I don’t just mean the place: he loved the Wickers. He respected their capricious mindset. He embraced the place fully, with no pretence or patronising attitude.
He had all the ingredients of the classic English toff, Eton and Oxford and an illustrious family pedigree, but he wore this patrician background in such a kindly, interested manner that he never ruffled the Wickers’ feathers.
The legacy of his uncle Ian [the creator of James Bond, Ian Fleming] was a blessing and a curse. After eschewing it for the first decades of his life, upon moving to Caithness he began to embrace it and launched his own series of novels.
The lead character in his Blood series was based on a Wicker, but who exactly I have never discovered. (He must be a hell of a fellow!)
A three-book deal signed with Random House launched this great trilogy.
Two of the books were created with exclusive “Wick editions” and he asked me to design the covers. The launch events for these books in Mackays Hotel were glorious occasions, with uniforms (the books were set in revolutionary Russia) worn by some audience members.
As a university professor I get long summer holidays and can return to my Wick home for lengthy periods . With James and his wives (complicated) we would spend almost every day together roaming Caithness; never has the phrase “halcyon days” been more applicable.
In his country house at Blingery he had created a 1930s atmosphere with gramophones and paintings. His lunches were legendary and an eclectic mix of guests would include Iain Sutherland, Lord Thurso, the former UK ambassador to Austria (a formidable Margaret Rutherford type), Murray Lamont, the representative of Disney in Moscow, etc. A game of Caithness Cluedo in the making if ever there was one!
Needless to say the conversation (over pheasant James had shot) was scintillating.
During our last luncheon in the Bord de l’eau restaurant James said that, of all the places he lived, Wick was the place he loved most and, if possible, he would live there again.
His local legacy (on top of his literary output) will be that a bit of him will live eternal amongst the Wickers he knew and loved.
James Fleming, writer and editor, was born on February 26, 1944, and died aged 80 on November 22, 2024.
Professor Ian Charles Scott