I hold Henry in more than standard affection,because he was,and remains, a pal,…… forever young, forever slightly vulnerable, forever Eager and
Searching and Alive, suspended in the condition of youth and discovery. His “Tropics” interest me less than those books of his I came across at that particularly fertile time, early adulthood, …such as , first, “The Air-Conditioned Nightmare”, then later, “The Books in my Life”.I read the first of these on a journey from Capetown to Durban in the early sixties, on a train whose carriages had a sort of balcony at the back. I felt like I was travelling into the West, lost and alone, and the comfort and vigour that Henry so generously delivered was beyond price and unforgettable.The second book was read in similar circumstances, but rather later. The effect was the same, and I marvel at the intimate and personal effect of these works, talking, as they were, about very general matters, books, life, ideals, ambitions, …without ever losing contact with my own yearning preoccupations.