I first encountered what was then the Manchester Guardian in the lobby of a Keswick hotel, where as a teenager I was staying with my parents in the late 1940s. Seeing my enthusiasm, they switched from the Yorkshire Post to the Guardian. Later, as a student in London in the early 50s I bought the Guardian regularly, even though it often arrived a day late. It was still relatively unknown in the metropolis, and my reading it was a source of bemusement to some of my fellow students, who had difficulty believing that anything of interest could originate north of Watford. I often wonder how they react to the fame it now enjoys as one of the most widely quoted newspapers in the world.
After I left for Canada, my parents’ Christmas gift to me was for many years a subscription to the Weekly, and I have maintained it. I always read the book reviews, both for the enjoyment of good writing and as a guide to great books that I would have missed. But what I appreciate above all is how you have maintained the quality of your news reporting and commentary, and the liberal values that permeate everything you write. In a world going mad, you are a voice of sanity.
On my first trip home I found that my parents had reverted to the Yorkshire Post. Only then did I realise the sacrifice that they had made for me. I submit this piece as a belated tribute to their memory.
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