WITHOUT him the world may never have discovered the diverse delights of James Bond or Francis Kilvert - but William Plomer, a poet, author and critic with strong Herefordshire connections has a remarkable story to tell in his own right.

SUCH was William Plomer's friendship with Ian Fleming, he was asked to give the address at the world-famous author's memorial service following his death in 1964.

On that day Plomer described the creator of James Bond as 'a man with his foot on the accelerator, laughing at absurdities, fascinated and amused by places and people and facts and fantasies, an entertainer of millions'.

The words could have described Plomer himself. But in 2003, 30 years after his own death, his achievements are rarely acknowledged.

Yet Plomer was the man who gave Fleming the confidence to proceed with 'Casino Royale', the first Bond novel, despite considerable self-doubt, and made Francis Kilvert - the Herefordshire clergyman - a household name.

William Plomer, whose surname rhymes with 'rumour', was born in South Africa but spent most of his life living in England. White South Africans, whom he described as a 'mass of crawling filthiness' were, in particular, not to his taste.

Saving money from occasional reviews and articles he wrote for newspapers, Plomer moved to London in 1929.

On arriving, he settled in a large Victorian house in Bayswater, run by a young woman, who unfortunately had a bad-tempered, violent husband whose rages were fuelled by jealousy.

Early one Sunday morning, the man wrongly presumed that Plomer had enjoyed a romantic dalliance with his wife. He grabbed a razor and slashed her to death in front of their six-year-old daughter.

Plomer arrived home to find carnage. He set about cleaning up, picking scraps of flesh off the carpet. At his birthday party, in the murder-house weeks later, Plomer told Virgina Woolf that while crime was not his line as a novelist, this had inspired him. His best-selling novel 'The Case is Altered' is reportedly based on the incident.

In 1930 he moved to Herefordshire, on the Welsh Border, where he wrote 170,000 words of his autobiographical novel. Within a few years the county would play a major role in his career.

A turbulent private life and a tendency towards laziness, meant Plomer drifted somewhat in the early 1930s. It was his appointment in the office of the publisher Jonathan Cape that re-ignited his ambition.

As a reader, Plomer waded through numerous badly-typed manuscripts hoping to uncover a rare gem. He did just that when he stumbled upon parish curate Francis Kilvert's diaries (1870-1879).

Plomer edited the original 22 volumes down to a three-volume selection, which were published from 1938 to 1944.

Much to everybody's surprise, the first volume was a smash success and in the years following the publication of the diaries, Kilvert became a part of Plomer's life.

On the founding of the Kilvert Society in Hereford, he became its president and attended its inaugural meeting at the Town Hall. Members found him a delightful friend and companion - but knew nothing of his literary past.

He was also well-known in the county through his visits to the Three Choirs Festival, and he was lyricist to the composer Benjamin Britten during the 1950s and '60s.

Plomer also spent considerable time in Clyro parish staying on a hillside farm while he gathered much local colour and found people who had actually known the diarist, some having been christened by him.

Sadly, at the same time as his professional reputation soared, his personal life plummeted.

In early 1943, Plomer was arrested for propositioning a sailor whom he thought obliging. Homosexuality at the time was still illegal in Britain and the embarrassment did untold psychological damage.

He was spared prosecution and public humiliation when his friend Ian Fleming intervened, claiming that Plomer was of national importance.

After this, Plomer became obsessively secretive and was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when he met Charles Erdmann, who became his life partner.

Plomer's friendship with Ian Fleming developed during the Second World War when they served together in the Navy.

On writing the draft of 'Casino Royale' in 1951, Fleming was racked with self-doubt, not believing any publisher would be interested. Plomer became his salvation.

He recalled a conversation with Fleming about the novel: "Of course I asked to see it. He felt that I would 'tell the horrible truth about the book without condemning me or being scornful'. I read, I applauded, he conquered."

One could presume that such a colourful life was always going to end dramatically - and so it proved.

As a great letter writer, Plomer never felt the need to own a telephone, but it was his mistrust of the 'blower' that could have cost him his life.

On September 20, 1973 he suffered the last in a series of heart attacks. Having no phone, his companion had to travel to the nearest phone box, which had been vandalised and was out of service.

A further half-hour delay followed, in part because his GP was on vacation, and the locum refused to come because it was 4.30 in the morning and he was off duty.

He did, however, call an on-duty doctor who lived around five miles away, but by the time he arrived, Plomer had lapsed into unconsciousness and died several minutes later in his partner's arms.