A decade after the passing of the iconic actor Alan Rickman, a collection of personal letters published in the Guardian has revealed touching, humorous, and deeply human stories from those who knew him. The tributes, marking the tenth anniversary of his death on 14 January, paint a vivid picture of Rickman beyond the screen – as a fiercely principled performer, a generous friend, and a man with an instantly recognisable voice.
From Rep Theatre to Confronting Noisy Schoolchildren
David Joss Buckley recalls working with a young, jobbing Alan Rickman in repertory theatre in the 1970s. They performed in a schools' matinee of Richard Crane's play 'Gunslinger', where Rickman played Sitting Bull. Dressed in full Native American regalia, he delivered a moving, sombre final speech in his rich, sonorous voice.
However, the performance was disrupted by a group of children talking and laughing in the stalls. Visibly angered, Rickman, after taking the curtain call, jumped off the stage and marched into the auditorium to confront them. The terrified children shrank back as he loomed over them. His ire was quickly deflated by their explanation: "We never knew you could hear us, we've never been to the theatre before – we thought it was like the telly." Buckley notes it was a lesson learned on both sides of the footlights.
A Legendary Voice Emerges at RADA
Nicholas Woodeson shares a memory from their time at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA). During a performance of 'The Bacchae' in the Little Theatre, he experienced the first powerful emergence of that famous voice. From a blackout, a voice boomed: "I AM DIONYSUS, SON OF ZEUS. MY MOTHER WAS SEMELE…"
When the lights came up, there stood Alan Rickman on a chair, wearing tasteful eyeshadow – an image forever etched in Woodeson's memory. He also recalls an early encounter where Rickman's partner, Rima, introduced herself in a pub and declared Alan "was going to be great", an assertion history would certainly prove correct.
The Model of Friendship and Generosity
The letters also highlight Rickman's profound kindness and loyalty. Margaret Heffernan remembers being stranded in New York without her wallet or cards while visiting to see his production of 'My Name is Rachel Corrie'. Rickman came to her rescue "with bemused laughter, fistfuls of cash and his always-generous hospitality".
Another time, she found him having tea with his old secondary school drama teacher, exemplifying his lasting connections. Heffernan describes him as a "model of friendship and care" – loyal, funny, and incisive.
An Imaginary, Yet Treasured, Farewell
Harriet Monkhouse contributes a poignant, supernatural-tinged memory. She and a friend had a long-running joke that any hard-to-believe stage romance could be solved by casting Alan Rickman. On the day he died, she dreamt she was in a theatre and had to climb past a couple to reach a seat. The man, who was very welcoming, was Alan Rickman.
She awoke to the news of his death on the radio, realising she must have absorbed his name while semi-conscious. She treasures that unexpected imaginary farewell, where he was as lovely as in all the published tributes. These collective memories ensure that a decade on, Alan Rickman's legacy – defined by his unparalleled talent, commanding voice, and deep humanity – continues to resonate powerfully.
