Submissions are now invited for our annual Non-Fiction Competition, The Richard Booth Prize 2026, named after one of Hay-on-Wye’s most notable residents and it’s self proclaimed ‘King of Hay’. Richard was always a great supporter of books, Hay-on-Wye and of course, local writers.

Sadly, Richard passed away in 2019, but his name lives on everywhere in Hay, including this writing prize which he so graciously sponsored during his lifetime and we continue to honour in his memory.

This year we are thrilled to confirm that the judge for our Non-Fiction Competition is Ruth Pavey.

“Living mainly in London, Ruth has had a mixed career, as gardener, teacher of art and English, reviewer, gardening columnist and (not in London) woodland grower.  She has written two illustrated books about her Somerset woodland-cum-orchard project; “A Wood of One’s Own” (a Sunday Times Book of the Year), and “Deeper into the Wood”, both published by Duckworth Books.
 
As a writer late to publication, she admires everyone who writes from the heart and doesn’t give up….”

Anyone can enter this competition. 500-1250 words. The theme is entirely open. Original unpublished writing on any subject will be accepted. Closing date is Tuesday 7th July 2026. Any entries submitted after the closing date will not be considered. Good luck!

For full competition guidelines and the entry form, please head over to our Competitions page.

The Bookseller of Hay: The Life and Times of Richard Booth by James Hanning.
(Emma van Woerkom)

Richard Booth, where do you start? This book is as good a place as any to get an inkling into the many layers of his life.  As James Manning admits, to some Richard was a “shambolic, egotistical, capricious, unreliable spendthrift”, others saw him as a “benign, paternal, swashbuckling advocate of the common man”.  What James has drawn together here is a range of people’s personal recollections interspersed with written material, which includes some of Richard’s own diary entries.

Among many stories of celebrities, folk from Hay and beyond; book festivals, institutions and sellers, and the varied relationships they all had with Richard, we view the inception and formation of his book shop empire. He created the Kingdom of Hay, and thus his kingship, we witness his remarkable promotional skills, his continually anarchic financial escapades, and latterly, his firm ethos that his book-town model should be duplicated around the world.

It was a joy to read about so many people I know and have known.  I particularly favoured the explanation of Jeffery Meadon’s encounter, and subsequent high court battle with Booth.  I crossed paths frequently with Jeffery later in his life, and he never fully explained his vitriolic stance on Booth, he just called him a rogue and spoke bitterly about him. 

A few years later I met Richard and Hope at a lunch for Hay Writers’ Circle. Richard (during his lifetime) gave his name to their annual Non-Fiction Competition and donated the prize money. The prize (as you see) still bears his name as a tribute to his support of local writers.  On that day he was utterly charismatic, excitedly brimming with ideas of going to Iceland to advise on setting up a book town there.  He praised and marvelled that an average of one in ten Icelanders published a book during their lifetime.  He asked me to join his party and go to Iceland.  I had just started a new job elsewhere and made my disappointed excuses.

But it was a joy to speak to him on that day, and I can see how so many people were captivated by his ambitious dreams. It reminds me of this quote from T. E. Lawrence, “All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible”.

Richard Booth was a quintessential day dreamer, and this book aptly brings that to the fore.

The Bookseller of Hay : The Life and Times of Ricard Booth by James Hanning
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Corsair ISBN 978-1472159786
Available at all good bookshops including the Hay Festival Bookshop –
https://www.hayfestival.com/p-24525-the-bookseller-of-hay.aspx

Hay Festival 2026

Join Hay Festival 2026, 21st–31st May. The full programme is out!

CLICK HERE for details.

The Hay Writers Live!

Hay Writers’ Circle – Event number 394 – FREE drop-in Session

Sunday 31 May 2026, 12.35pm – 12.55pm –  Bookshop Garden Marquee

“Come and hear the writers share and discuss some of their recent work. The Hay Writers’ Circle is a dynamic group, active in Hay for more than 40 years. It offers three competitions annually for poetry, fiction and non-fiction, each of which is open to both members and non-members. There is an active work in progress group for those working on longer projects. The Circle has an ongoing, productive relationship with a local primary school.”

Something from the HWC Archives

(HWC 2001 Magazine, Issue 2, page 19)

THE FIRST URBAN SPRAWL, 1935
by Vera Fairfax

There was a pond and, in season, croaking frogs
A much walked path and rabbit hole dogs
Protruding tails wagging, with never a rabbit caught
Scratching, yelping, barking, snarling, all for nought.

Celandines first, then bluebells in shady places
Daisies, white and joyful and golden buttercup faces.
Leg tickling quaker grass, thistles, booming bees
And, ruling over all, the kindly leafy trees.

The oak stood alone, spreading branches blessing all,
Giving shelter, shade to youthful plans, adventure to recall.
For childhood dwelt in that wondrous place, dreams and nature were ours.
For it was always there, each grass we knew we shared in playlit hours.

Girls wearing frocks played house, all very self reliant.
Boys in short trousers were pirates, wild and bad and defiant,
Intent on destruction. Then came years of sport,
Football, racing, rounders and excited cries, ‘Well caught!’

But the city, spawning suburbs, was slowly, surely, creeping.
Chainsaws felled the oak, beeches, ash fell weeping.
Houses were built. Where went the frogs?
No use yelping for rabbits for back garden dogs.

We were casual, uncaring, for the world and a war were beckoning
And when Paradise was swept away, we hardly guessed the reckoning.
For Life moved us on to live, leaving memory in the wildwood,
With the dogs, rabbits, frogs, flowers, bees and childhood.

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