Over recent months there has been a growing public conversation concerning Raynor Winn’s 2018 memoir The Salt Path and questions about the accuracy of some elements of the book. By the time you read this piece the Sky TV documentary exploring those questions will have aired and my own contribution to it, along with my past connection with Raynor and Moth Winn (also known as Sally and Tim Walker), will be publicly known. Because of this I feel it is important to say something here in my own space and in my own words.

​

This is not a piece about allegations or assigning blame. It is not a judgement or a point-by-point response to any claims made elsewhere. This post simply explains why I chose to take part in the programme and why the truthfulness of memoir matters to readers, writers and to me. The issues raised also reach beyond publishing.

​

I’m not going to repeat material already covered in detail elsewhere. For more details please refer to The Observer’s thorough reporting by Chloe Hadjimatheou (The Observer July 2025) and the documentary’s sources. 

​

My Connection to this Story

​

It’s already on the record that I knew Raynor and Moth Winn as neighbours in Cornwall. We were introduced in 2020 by a mutual friend who thought it would be a nice idea for two writers who lived less than a mile apart to meet up and talk about books, literature and the world of publishing. I was really pleased to have another writer nearby - writing is an amazing occupation, but it can be very lonely. Although Raynor wrote in a different genre to me, I knew she would understand the peculiarities of a writer’s life.

​

I had already met Raynor at an awards evening at The Royal Cornwall Museum on behalf of Gorsedh Kernow. I was nominated for a fiction award and Ray for the memoir prize, which she won. We spoke briefly and I was struck by how shy and self-effacing she seemed, for even at this point The Salt Path was a publishing phenomenon. I was really pleased she had won.

Like many readers I was moved by Raynor’s ‘unflinchingly honest’ memoir. The Salt Path’s themes of resilience, love, landscape and survival are powerful, and the twin jeopardies of illness and homelessness made for an immediate emotional connection between reader and author. I read the book with my heart and when I came to know Ray and Moth in real life, and grew fond of them both, it felt as though the book’s message of hope had been borne out. I was so glad they were safe, secure and enjoying success. Ray’s memoir, written by chance as a birthday present for her husband and unexpectedly turned into a bestseller, felt like a literary fairy tale. I truly believed nobody deserved that success more.

​

The Winns were private people. I respected this as I understood from reading the book, and also from our mutual friend, that they had been hurt and betrayed in the past by ‘Cooper’. We were not close friends, but I believed we were friendly neighbours. I saw them often when I was out riding my horse and Ray and I chatted over tea and cake a few times. I found her modest and thoughtful. She never bragged about her success and if anything was reticent about speaking about writing. Moth was always welcoming, happy to stop what he was doing to pat my horse and have a chat. Knowing that he was so unwell, my partner and I made it known that we were only minutes away if they ever needed a hand. When we heard from our mutual friend in late 2021 that Moth’s prognosis was dreadfully bleak, we were devastated. It felt deeply unfair and it was heartbreaking. There is no need to elaborate further as previous reporting covers this aspect of the story.

​

I am not commenting on the nature of Moth Winn’s illness. Although Raynor has written about her husband’s health in her books, and has published some of his past medical information, it is not right to speculate here. I am not an expert in CBD and I would refer everyone to Chloe Hadjimatheou’s forensic reporting on this aspect of the story, to the documentary and also to the PSPA’s website - the charity that supports those with CBD/CBS and their families. 

​

The portrayal of Moth Winn’s condition in all three books, and the secular miracle of walking in nature improving his condition, has shaped how some readers with illnesses have viewed their own situations. The possibility of being in nature as a cure, or a means to slow down illness, is a powerful part of the text. This trope is used often in literature, but the true element and ‘unflinchingly honest’ marketing strapline for The Salt Path made it exceedingly powerful. There is hope here in the book, and it is uplifting, but publishers as well as authors have a responsibility to consider the consequences of the health messages inferred from texts by readers. Readers want hope (we all want hope, now more than ever) but those who are sick or vulnerable or frantic to find a cure, want it desperately. Publishers and authors must bear this in mind when they market a book which contains health claims, overt or implied, as ‘unflinchingly honest’.

 

The contract between author and reader is fragile and involves trust. Whose responsibility is it to ensure that this trust is protected? Author? Publisher? The literary agent who sells the book? This is an important debate that The Observer’s investigation and the Sky documentary engage with and one which I have no doubt will continue over the months ahead. 

​

When Landlines, Raynor’s third memoir, was published I bought it eagerly as it covered the period during which I’d known the Winns. I was taken aback by the opening section; it was exceedingly bleak and shockingly graphic in terms of the deterioration in Moth’s health. Under the impression that he had been doing well, and that working in the orchards was beneficial to his health, I was shocked to read this and very distressed to think of them struggling so much. I was sad they had not felt able to reach out and ask for help. We had always made it clear we were only a call away and I felt as though I had let them down. Upset, I put the book aside for a while before returning to it when I felt able to face it. As the documentary explains, I then became confused when I noticed aspects of the narrative that did not align with my own recollection of events. I had so many questions and concerns. I didn’t dare to voice these so decided to re-read the books to try and answer my questions.

​

I reread all three books closely, analysing each text as though preparing to teach them in detail. For the record before writing full time, I read English at University and taught English Literature and Media Studies for two decades, so I am used to analysing and deconstructing text. I wanted to evaluate the timelines and descriptions with a critical eye rather than an emotional one. Some elements still did not tally with what I had observed at the time. I was confused and then concerned. I did not discuss any of this publicly. Memoir is sensitive and people’s private circumstances are often complex. CBD is not a widely encountered condition and Moth’s medical information was confidential even though his wife had written about it candidly, and often graphically, in her books. For these reasons I did not feel it was my place to speak publicly and without the proper context. I never challenged Raynor or Moth for after this point I saw them only distantly when passing the cider farm. We never sat down together again. The Winns gave their noticed on the cider farm and moved away not long after Landlines was published. Until The Observer’s investigation began it was as though they had never been here. 

​

Why I Chose To Speak About This 

​

When Chloe Hadjimatheou and the Sky documentary makers approached me, I agreed to contribute because by this point The Salt Path controversy had become part of a debate much wider than any personal connection. Questions were posed such as: 

​

• What do readers deserve from memoir? 

• What responsibility does a writer hold when presenting a true story? 

• Does truth matter if a narrative is compelling? 

• Does an account of an inexplicable recovery place additional pressure on those living with illness?​
   

Although memory is fallible and experience subjective, shouldn’t memoir be honest? I had been confused and upset after reading Landlines and I felt let down. I knew that the millions of readers who had taken the book to their hearts might well feel the same, but I also knew that the truth matters. If it doesn’t, what are we all striving for? 

​

Moth’s diagnosis of corticobasal degeneration is central to The Salt Path and the following two books. As I say in the documentary, it is impossible to assess someone’s health by appearance alone and CBD is a rare condition. After Chloe Hadjimatheou’s reporting in July 2025, some neurologists suggested that aspects of the illness as described in the books might not align with typical progression. These concerns, if accurate, risked creating false hope for people living with serious neurodegenerative conditions. Whether or not the author intended this, readers took heart from the book and had hope. It would also appear that many internalised a sense that they could push through illness in the same way and found solace in the story of Moth’s walking. Chloe’s interview with John Todd (August 6th 2025) illustrates this. For those that have not seen this please see Chloe’s interview with John on the Observer's website.

​

During the period I knew the Winns, a dear friend of mine received a terminal neurological diagnosis. He was a fit man and keen runner who wanted nothing more than to stay active and be out in nature. I had hoped The Salt Path might encourage him and his wife, but instead it left them feeling guilty and ashamed, as though they should be trying harder or were not doing the right things. He struggled to walk a few miles. A 630 mile walk on a gruelling path would have been impossible. After The Observer’s story broke, his widow wrote to me explaining why she believed the narrative of the book should be examined with great care.

​

She said, “A terminal illness is lonely and isolating. One of the most hurtful responses are people who want to give you fixes. The moment any of these are mentioned a gulf opens up because what that person is saying is that you are not trying hard enough. You are on the wrong journey. You feel so unseen that you stop reaching out.”

​

She then explained how the guilt of not following such suggestions, or doing so and feeling no better, places huge pressure on the sick person and their loved ones. She also believed that those who had found hope in the story, however slim or fragile, would feel crushed and then angry at the revelations. John Todd’s interview with Chloe Hadjimatheou expresses these sentiments. To stay silent when I was contacted felt like cancelling my friend’s experience and overlooking the impact the story had on real people. I felt very strongly that this was an issue of huge importance in terms of the impact on the lives of people like my friend and his wife, and so I agreed to speak to the documentary team.

​

The Heart of the Issue: Trust Between Reader and Writer

​

Memoir is not fiction. Although my novels explore truth and real events they do so through my imagination. Readers understand this for when we read fiction, we suspend disbelief and step into a world of make believe. That’s the joy of writing and reading it for we recognise archetypes and see truth through invention.

​

A memoir is different. Readers enter a life rather than an imagined world. They trust the writer to describe experiences that happened. It is a mirror. Memory is subjective and real people can be disguised, but a memoir is expected to remain grounded in truth and truth is evidenced by facts. If a writer says they lived in a place or witnessed an event, we believe this and that it can be proven. Evidence will substantiate the text's claims. As Chloe Hadjimatheou points out in her articles, there is a significant difference between 'omission' and 'commission'. When a memoir is marketed as 'unflinchingly honest', readers will take the publisher at their word. If that trust is shaken the consequences are serious, especially at a time when truth in public life feels fragile, we are consumed by 'Fake' news, the BBC is under attack, we see the advance of AI, and political polarisation fuelled by social media echo chambers and exploited by sophists. We need to trust the established and respected bastions of public life, or we are in danger of believing nothing at all and becoming cynical.

​

Then we are really in a dark place. Truth matters hugely.

​

Readers bring their own hopes, fears and life experiences to memoir. This makes it a powerful but also delicate form. They step into the writer’s world and trust that it is as they are told. The bond of trust between writer and reader is so personal and fragile because readers are invited into the author’s confidence. When questions arise about a memoir’s accuracy the emotional contract the reader makes can feel damaged. Manipulated. Exploited for profit. Readers don’t expect perfection, they understand memory can be subjective and conversations had years before may not be recalled word for word, but they do expect honesty. If readers trust a memoir, they may act on what the author describes - whether this is intended or not. The responsibility carried by a memoirist is significant and can’t be underestimated.

​

For me the question of truth is not abstract. As a novelist I create fictional characters, but I understand the difference between shaping a story and presenting lived reality. It is a line writers and publishers must tread with great care. 

​

This Is Not About Tearing Down a Story People Love

​

I liked the Winns, or the people I thought they were, and I was delighted they had if not a happy ending, at least the nearest thing to it. Like so many people I read The Salt Path with my heart and was moved by it. Nothing I have said in the documentary denies the inspirational impact The Salt Path has had on many readers. Acknowledging questions about the memoir does not erase the comfort people found in it. Instead, this investigation asks us all to consider how life writing works and how true stories can be handled with integrity and responsibility. Those who found hope in this book only to have it shaken deserve clarity and all those whose truth was cancelled by it deserve to be given their voices back.

​

My Hope Moving Forward

​

I didn’t take part in the documentary lightly. I thought about it carefully and it wasn’t an easy thing to do. I know how many readers have taken the book to their hearts, I was one of them, and I appreciate how many people loved the film version. My intention in speaking out was not to condemn the Winns, but to contribute to a necessary conversation about ethics in memoir. It was also a relief to be able to voice the concerns I had held privately and to be heard by Chloe and the team. My sadness was real, both when I feared I had failed as a neighbour and when I later realised that the story may have been different from what I once believed. The revelations which followed, including those which were published on December 14th 2025, have shocked me. It has become very clear that I never knew the Winns, or more accurately the Walkers, at all.

​

I really hope that the discussion of this matter eventually leads to greater transparency, clearer expectations and renewed trust between those who share their lives on the page and those who read them. This has been a strange and upsetting experience but if anything constructive can come from The Salt Path controversy I hope it is much greater care in checking the truth of memoir. 

​

If you have come here after watching the documentary, thank you for taking the time to hear my perspective. If you are a long-term reader and have stumbled across the post, thank you for embracing my thoughts. And if you are an author, of fiction or memoir, I hope this reflection is a reminder of the care we owe the people who trust us with their time, their stories and their emotions.