A Thank You for the Books, Dame Jilly.
Who else’s first love was Rupert Campbell-Black? Who else thrilled to the thud of hooves over Cotswold turf, to the clink of champagne flutes in the sun, to the promise that love, laughter, and a little mischief might yet triumph over snobbery and scandal?
Dame Jilly Cooper, who gave us all of that (and so much more) has sadly died at the age of 88, following a fall. A novelist, journalist, patriot, and purveyor of joy, she leaves behind a nation of readers who adored her.
Awarded a damehood last year for services to literature, Jilly was the grande dame of the “bonk-buster”… though she turned that cheeky label into a badge of honour, proving that books bursting with life, lust, and laughter could also be works of wit and truth. From Riders to Rivals, her novels galloped through the decades, their pages alive with rivalry, romance, and that uniquely British blend of class-consciousness and charm.
Her family said:
“MUM WAS THE SHINING LIGHT IN ALL OF OUR LIVES. HER LOVE FOR ALL OF HER FAMILY AND FRIENDS KNEW NO BOUNDS. HER UNEXPECTED DEATH HAS COME AS A COMPLETE SHOCK. WE ARE SO PROUD OF EVERYTHING SHE ACHIEVED IN HER LIFE AND CAN’T BEGIN TO IMAGINE LIFE WITHOUT HER INFECTIOUS SMILE AND LAUGHTER ALL AROUND US.”
And who could forget that smile… the sparkle behind the spectacles, the voice forever fizzing with amusement and affection?
Her longtime agent, Felicity Blunt, called it “the privilege” of her career to represent Jilly, who “defined culture, writing and conversation,” particularly through her beloved Rutshire Chronicles. She praised Jilly’s “wicked humour” and “intricate and gutsy” plots.
“YOU WOULDN’T EXPECT BOOKS CATEGORISED AS BONK-BUSTERS TO HAVE SO EMPHATICALLY STOOD THE TEST OF TIME,” BLUNT SAID, “BUT JILLY WROTE WITH ACUITY AND INSIGHT ABOUT ALL THINGS – CLASS, SEX, MARRIAGE, RIVALRY, GRIEF AND FERTILITY. SHE WROTE, SHE SAID, SIMPLY ‘TO ADD TO THE SUM OF HUMAN HAPPINESS’. IN THIS REGARD, AS A WRITER, SHE WAS AND REMAINS UNBEATABLE.”
Born in Essex, Jilly became the beating heart of the Cotswolds, where she moved in 1982 and where so many of her novels were set, filled with scandal, horses, and the upper-class chaos she skewered so affectionately.
Decorated over the years with an OBE in 2004, a CBE in 2018, and at last that ecstatic damehood (which she memorably described as “orgasmic”), Jilly was more than a writer, she was a national treasure. A long-standing friend of Queen Camilla, she last appeared in public just days ago, at Her Majesty’s Queen’s Reading Room festival, still radiant, still full of stories.
Rupert Campbell-Black, her irresistible creation, modelled in part on Andrew Parker Bowles I am told, will forever remain one of literature’s great lovers. Through him, and through all her Rutshire rogues and heroines, Jilly changed how Britain read and how Britain laughed.
Bill Scott-Kerr, her publisher of thirty years, called working with her “one of the great privileges and joys of my publishing life,” remembering her as “a trailblazer… a personal heroine for her kindness, humour, curiosity, courage, and profound love of animals.”
“RIDERS, PUBLISHED IN 1985,” HE SAID, “CHANGED THE COURSE OF POPULAR FICTION FOREVER.”
And so it did. Ten Rutshire novels later, Jilly Cooper had inspired generations of women, writers, dreamers, and romantics to live boldly, love fearlessly, and never take life too seriously.
Her funeral will be private, but a public thanksgiving will follow at Southwark Cathedral, where admirers from every stable, salon, and village green may come together to celebrate her extraordinary life.
Because Jilly Cooper didn’t just write about Britain, she wrote Britain itself: our foibles and fantasies, our class and our courage, our horses, our heartbreaks, and our hope.
So thank you, Dame Jilly.
For Rupert and Taggie.
For Riders and Rivals.
For every laugh, every gasp, every glass of fizz on a summer’s lawn.
Thank you for the books.
